The A to Z of A & C: Vignettes from The Lucky Ones
by T Traveller
Summary: Outtakes from The Lucky Ones, one for each of the 26 days leading to the premiere of Fifty Shades Freed.
1. A is for Apples

**14 Jan 2018**

 **Gentle Reader,**

 **One year ago, I discovered "Alphabetical Anthology" by Seosh, a treasure trove of verse written for the twenty-six days leading to the premiere of Fifty Shades Darker. The poems are still on this site. I encourage you to read and enjoy Seosh's poetic take on our favorite couple.**

 **I'm certainly no poet, but Seosh inspired me to do something of my own in celebration of Fifty Shades Freed. The result is twenty-six outtakes from "The Lucky Ones."**

 **These aren't chapter updates, just short vignettes resulting from word sprints written in April and July, 2017. These are scenes I decided not to use, either because they would not fit my timeline or did not add significantly to the plot. Please note that the passages vary greatly in length. They are not in sequential order.**

 **If you follow TLO, there are a few spoilers sprinkled throughout, so beware. If you are not a follower of TLO, please jump in and read. No prior knowledge is necessary to enjoy Ana and Christian.**

 **Thank you for your reviews. They are my payday, and I appreciate the time you take to write them. Your input is important to me.**

 **All the best,**

 **Paula**

XXXXXXX

 **A is for APPLES**

 **Christian**

 **Sunday, August 28, 2011**

Today we make the annual pilgrimage to my grandparents' orchard in the Wenatchee Valley. While Ana and Katherine have visited my grandparents before, and toured the orchard, this Trevelyan-Grey tradition is a first for them.

We could drive the distance in two and a half hours, but why drive, subjecting Ana to a long trip, when Charlie Tango can get us there in a half hour? My EC-135 seats seven, so it's the perfect size. Sawyer dropped us off at the airport, while Taylor, Gail, and Sophie left earlier, enabling them to arrive ahead of us.

"I can tell from the change in terrain—we're getting close." I hear anticipation in Ana's voice. She's in the front passenger seat, and she's the only one wearing cans. This is by my design, so she and I can easily converse in privacy.

"ETA is about five minutes. Someone's excited about cider."

"I know this isn't a big deal to you, Mr. Grey, but I haven't been apple picking since my fifth grade field trip."

"If you're happy, I'm happy." She has no idea how important her happiness is.

"Think of all the money we'll save by putting up our own food," Ana says.

"Perhaps for Christmas, I'll get you a subscription to the Penny Pincher," I offer.

Ana rolls her eyes and giggles. My wife is adorable.

"Contributing to the family coffer is important to me, and frugality is one way I can do that. Once the baby arrives and I cut back to part-time at the station, I won't be getting much of a paycheck. And I enjoy putting up food. It's quite satisfying."

"I do love your domesticity, Mrs. Grey," I wink at her. She beams in return. Until Ana, I never realized I had such a traditional nature.

I land Charlie Tango in my customary spot, the expansive front yard of my grandparents' home.

The orchard has been in Grandmother's family for over a hundred years. She was born and raised here. My grandparents met, married, and raised a family in Seattle. Grandmother inherited the farm about the time I was adopted, and wanting to move back to the country, Grandfather sold his CPA practice and became a farmer.

Trevelyan Certified Organic Farms has been a leader in progressive farming. It was the first orchard to earn certification as organic, and even at his advanced age, Grandfather is constantly trying new varieties of apples, pears, and plums. He also grows several types of garlic. He has hired help, of course, because it's too much for him to handle alone.

For six weeks each year, the farm is open to the public as a U-pick. It's tradition for our family to visit the weekend before the public descends upon the place. As soon as Ana learned she would have access to apples, pears, and plums, she ordered the largest capacity food dehydrator she could find. She and Gail have big plans to make plum jelly and apple butter.

Today we'll pick fruit and press cider. Grandmother, with the help of her housekeeper, Myra, will serve lunch. Out of respect for my grandparents, I've always done my best to attend this event, but this is the first time since I was small, that I've actually wanted to attend. Ana's enthusiasm fuels mine.

Since Ana is fourteen weeks along, I broached the subject of revealing our pregnancy to my parents and grandparents today. I'm bursting to make an announcement, since my wish that Mia or Elliot might spill the beans has gone unfulfilled.

Ana has argued against any announcement, as she'd like Ray to be there, so we can tell everyone all at once. She also wants to wait until she's beginning to show before we tell anyone.

I love running my hand over the hard mound forming just above her pubic bone. The thrill of our pregnancy grows with each passing day. I'm in awe of the miracle we've created. Ana has been a bit tired during these early weeks of pregnancy, but she has felt well and experienced no morning sickness.

Because apple orchards tend to be muddy places this time of year, we've brought rubber boots for trekking about.

"I want to help you with your boots. Let me put mine on first," I tell Ana.

"Think I can't pull on wellies?" She scoffs, rolling her eyes, letting loose that sexy giggle of hers.

"It's not that. I just want to help you. You're my wife." The unstated and understood message between Ana and me is a simple one. She's my _pregnant_ wife, and I desire to pamper her.

"Yes, sir," she says, and gives me a winsome, flirty smile.

"You two are the cutest things," Grandmother says. "Aren't they the cutest, Theo?"

"Took the words right out of my mouth. The cutest." Grandfather pulls a rusty, red wagon over to us. "Here you go, kids."

"Is that what we put our apples in?" Ana asks, pushing against me to assist with her boots. "We'll have to make several trips for what I have planned."

"You're ambitious. baby. I like that. We'll have plenty of fruit. We'll get those tall white buckets, and set them inside the wagon." I point at the stacks of buckets next to a large shed. "That way we can gather more apples, and keep the varieties separated. How do your boots feel?"

I extend my hand to her and she reaches for it. Her hand in mine always feels right.

"Comfy. I'm ready to pick apples."

Hand in hand we enter a world which holds my happiest childhood memories. Grandfather has loaded our wagon with buckets. I pull the red wagon behind me, exactly as I have in years past, but this time it's different. All because of Ana.

"I love this Grey family tradition. Let's do this every year."

My heart swells at the thought of bringing our children apple picking each fall. My favorite childhood memory can also become theirs.

"Absolutely. You make me very happy, Mrs. Grey. If you want to make me even happier, please let me tell everyone about the baby." I give her sad eyes and put on the biggest pout I can muster.

"Please don't do that. You know what your sulky face does to me. You're not playing fair. Dad's not here, and I'd like to tell everyone all at once. Greys, Kavanaghs, and Dad. Make a special occasion of it. And I thought we'd pass out the sonogram cards."

"We can still pass out the cards. I brought them with me."

"Of course you did. You were planning this all along, weren't you?"

Uh-oh. Busted.

"Maybe I was. Maybe I wasn't." I pull another pouty face. This face and my dick are the only things that work against Anastasia's considerable resolve. "We can have Dana and Eamon over for dinner sometime this week, then visit Ray next weekend. Please, baby. Please."

Ana surveys the ground, shifts her feet, and twirls a lock of hair. She's considering my proposal.

She looks up. I resume my long face.

It's working. She's about to yield.

"Oh, alright. But first we need to fill up these buckets. You can tell everyone later, before the cider pressing. Just please stick to what we talked about. I don't want your folks to ever think we got married because I'm knocked up."

"Thank you, baby." I pick her up and twirl her around. God, I love her so much.

I've never picked apples so fast in my life. The picking is easy right now because the trees in the area close to the house haven't been touched yet, and there's plenty of low-hanging fruit.

"Those are huge. Look," Ana directs my attention to some unusually large apples at the top of the tree. I hoist Ana up on my shoulders, so she can reach them.

"It won't be too long before you'll have a son or daughter on these strong shoulders of yours," she says.

"I can't wait for that, but I hope you'll let me carry you around, too."

"Always," Ana promises.

"C'mon, baby, let's go back to the house and put our feet up." The buckets are full, and we have three varieties: Fuji, Gala, and Granny Smith.

"Do we have enough?" Ana asks.

"If you and Gail decide you need more, we'll put in an order with Grandfather. I want to go inside and snuggle up to my beautiful wife, but first let's retrieve those sonogram cards."

As we walk out to Charlie Tango, Ana stops, stretches, and reaches her arms skyward. She draws in a deep breath, filling her lungs with fresh country air.

"Everything is so clean and sweet and quiet. I love it here," she says. "The yard, the orchard, the house. Feels like a million miles from Seattle."

"I love it, too. The orchard has always been my happy place. But the house is a bit of a disaster, don't you think?"

"You and I have different ideas about houses. I love the drafty windows, the creaks and groans. Uneven floor boards hold a certain charm for me." Anastasia can make anything sound wonderful.

I find the cards right where I left them, in the front pocket of the bag.

"You've never spent the night here. Baby, the radiators talk to each other, they're so damned loud." When I was small, the house frightened me. Elliot didn't help by telling me it was haunted.

"Really? See if you can wrangle us an invitation to sleep over. I'd like to experience that."

"You're crazy, baby." She really must be crazy to tether herself to me. I hand her the cards. "I'll drop hints to Grams."

We slip off our boots and leave them on the porch.

"I don't like these heavy woolen socks you talked me into wearing." Ana peels off the socks and stuffs them into the boots.

"I want your toes warm and dry."

"You'll be one overprotective father, and I love you for it." Ana slides her hands up into my hair, giving it a gentle tug. She favors me with a soft kiss.

The house is empty save Myra, the housekeeper. She brings us glasses of ice water, which we sip while listening to Nat King Cole on the old hi-fi. Gramps' vinyl collection is older than Mother, and she was born in '57.

Ana and I stretch out on the family room sofa, with Ana on top. Her warm weight is a welcome blanket. We make out for a few minutes, then share the comfort of each other's arms, listening to the music. Ana's breathing slows, in turn slowing my own.

Suddenly I hear voices, and pull myself out of a half-sleep. Ana snores softly and stirs restlessly, rubbing her tiny baby bump against my hard dick.

"Gram, you know they probably boned right there on your sofa. I'm not going near that spot until Myra takes the Lysol to it." Elliot can be such an asshole.

"I wouldn't put it past your brother to do such a thing, but Ana would never." And now Katherine has to pile on, throwing in her two cents.

"Banana has turned into just as much of a horndog as Chrissy. Those two never stop." Well, now that my erection has been completely extinguished, I suppose I can get up.

"You all be quiet. I want more photos, before they wake. Don't they look precious together?" Mom and her photos. She never stops, and I secretly love it. I hope she sends me copies of these.

"I'm awake," I say. My entire family is standing over us.

Ana groans and her eyes flutter open to meet mine.

"Look, baby, we have company."

"Did we miss the cider pressing?" Ana speaks in a croaky, drowsy drawl. It's the way she sounds in the morning just after waking. It's such a turn-on.

"No," Mother answers. "We wouldn't do that without you two."

Ana rolls off me, sits up, and pulls my feet into her lap. She massages my feet, and everyone stares at her, mouths agape.

"Is it really so strange that a wife would rub her husband's feet?" I ask.

"No, I guess not," Mia answers. "It's only strange when the feet are yours. You've never liked anyone touching your shoes, much less your feet."

Does my family really think I'm so strange? Since Ana came into my life, I'm completely normal.

I sit up and pull Ana onto my lap. It's time for our big announcement.

"Have a seat. I need everyone's attention." Katherine and Elliot plop down next to us. So much for not wanting to touch the sofa. Dickhead Lelliot.

I wait, while everyone finds a spot. This will be news only to Mother, Dad, Grandmother, Grandfather, and Sophie. Taylor, Gail, Mia, Katherine, and Elliot have known since early days, but now they can speak freely about it.

Sophie pulls an ottoman over to Ana and me. She peers up expectantly.

"Sophie, would you please be our helper and pass these out?" Ana holds the envelopes out to Sophie.

"Sure, Ana. I'd love to help." Sophie hops up to quickly distribute the cards. Each card has a sonogram photo, edited to remove dates and measurements. The message says: _Ana and Christian Grey are pleased to announce the arrival of Baby Grey in late February 2012._

"Anastasia and I have some important news. Sophie is handing out envelopes. Don't open them until I tell you to, please." I wish I had a trumpet to blow or a drum to roll. I take a deep breath.

"The envelopes are all gone, Mr. Grey." Sweet little Sophie is so earnest and proud of herself.

"Okay, open the envelopes."

"Oh, my goodness. Does this mean…" Mother is completely surprised.

"Yes, Mother. We're expecting a baby," I confirm. I love saying it out loud.

"A baby!" My mother is on her feet, and practically knocks over little Sophie in an effort to hug Ana and me. "Did you hear that, Carrick?"

"I guess you can call me Grandpa now," Dad looks around at the rest of the family. "You all don't seem surprised."

"None of us should be surprised," Elliot offers. "Lil Bro did announce his intention of keeping Banana barefoot and pregnant for the next two decades." Elliot, Katherine, and Mia laugh, pointing at Ana's naked feet.

"Laugh if you must," Ana tells them. "But Christian and I are over the moon about this."

"We know you are, sweetie," Katherine says, her eyes full of love. "And we're thrilled at getting a niece or nephew."

"This means shopping," Mia interjects. "Lots and lots of shopping. When do you find out the gender?"

"We haven't decided whether or not to learn the gender before delivery," I say. Ana wants gender to be a surprise, but how do we plan if we're not in possession of all the facts?

"Pink or blue...I need to know," Mia whines. I feel your pain, little sister. I'll be happy either way, but I'm secretly hoping for blue.

"We're keeping the nursery gender neutral," Ana tells her. "It'll make things easier as we add to our family."

"You two are no fun," Mia huffs, then wraps us in a hug. "But I love you anyway."

"Congrats again, Chrissy. I'm proud of you and your super splooge." Elliot slaps me on the back, then scoops up Ana and swings her around. His face radiates joy and happiness at our good fortune. He's my big brother, and I love him.

"How are you feeling?" Grandmother asks Ana. "You look wonderful, sweetheart."

"Thanks. I feel wonderful," Ana says, as she strokes my hand.

Grandfather pulls me into an embrace, but doesn't say a word. His eyes are filled with tears. He gently ruffles my hair before stepping away.

"Due date! Tell us when this is happening," my mother implores.

"Ana just cleared twelve weeks. End of February." I've shaved two weeks off to satisfy Ana's need for propriety. I can practically see Mother's brain ticking off the weeks, trying to calculate the conception.

"A honeymoon baby!" Mother is very excited. "Did you know you were pregnant at the Mile High?"

"Yes," Ana says, a light blush kissing her cheeks. "We'd just found out." She's a terrible liar.

"Oh, my goodness, I can't begin to tell you how thrilling this is." Mother is beside herself with joy. She can't stop hugging and kissing us, and now has been joined by Grandmother.

"We haven't told my dad or Mama and Papa K, so please keep this to yourselves." Everyone nods in understanding of Ana's request.

"Congratulations, son," Dad pumps my hand, and pulls me over to the window. He lowers his voice. "Did you get married because Ana was pregnant?"

"Absolutely not. We got married because we love each other and want to start a family together. End of story."

Dad's grimaces and scrubs a hand over his face.

"Sorry, son. Old habits die hard."

"I understand why you asked, but my choices are never up for discussion."

Dad nods his head in agreement.

"I love you, son. I'm very proud of you."

Dad and I hug it out. Over the past few weeks I've become completely comfortable with my immediate family putting their hands on my back. Our family unit is a no-bullshit zone, built on mutual trust and respect.

Dad turns to Gramps.

"Got any good stuff around here, Theo? We need to drink to your great grandchild." This child won't be the first Trevelyan great grandchild, but will be the first from the Grey branch.

Not in a million years would anyone have predicted I'd marry, or be the first to give Grace and Carrick Grey a grandchild.

Being so unexpectedly normal gives me great satisfaction.

Anastasia's eyes find mine.

"Happy now, my darling?"

I reach for my Anastasia, and pull her against me. I'll never let her go.

"Baby, with you, the happiness never ends. Let's go press cider."

 **XXXXXXX**

 **If you prefer to read the stories in sequential order, here's the list for that:**

 **Sequential Order**

 **2011**

Apples 28 Aug

Brother 4 Oct

Halloween 4 Oct & 29 Oct

Quickening 16 Oct

Jar 3 Nov

Luminol 15 Nov

Wishbone 24 Nov

Krispy Kreme 8 Dec

 **2012**

Spinnbarkeit 5 Jan

Daddy 9 May

Eavesdrop 27 Aug

Carla 7 Sep

 **2013**

Valentine 14 Feb

Yours 5 Apr

Zippers 13 Apr

Xerox 7 Aug

Oven 27 Nov

 **2015**

Friendship 23 Jun

 **2016**

Grace 3 Dec

 **2017**

Mia 27 Jan

 **2018**

Intimate 22 Jan

Nativity 5 Oct

 **2020**

Target 24 Oct

Ray 12 Dec

 **2021**

Us 15 Apr

 **2022**

Past 21 Jan


	2. B is for Brother

**B is for Brother**

 **Tuesday, October 4, 2011**

 **Christian**

I don't do late, and if not for the fact that I'm waiting on family, I would have left ten minutes ago. I understand my brother and his fiancée being late, but like me, Anastasia is quite punctual.

What could be holding her up?

I find my wife's beautiful visage and press call.

"Yes, my darling," she says.

"Where are you? I'm at Mile High, sitting all by myself. There's something terribly wrong with this picture."

"I'm not coming. And neither is Elliot."

"For fuck's sake. I'm dining alone?"

Why didn't she call me earlier to let me know? I could be in my office getting things done.

"No, not alone. You're having lunch with Kate."

"Not gonna do that. Can't do that. It breaks my prenup rule about being alone in the presence of a female who isn't family."

"Kate is family. We're sisters in every way except genetics, so that makes her your sister-in-law. And she'll be that twice over when she marries Elliot in May."

"Why do I get stuck with her?" I sound like a whiny brat, but I don't care.

"Because Elliot and I are sick of all the tension between the two of you. The stress is getting to me, and you know stress isn't good for the baby."

Shit. She's pulled the trump card. All she has to do is mention the baby, and I'm putty in her hands.

"What do you want me to do?" I ask, resigned.

"I need you to make peace with Kate before the baby comes. I'm tired of the discord. So fix whatever this thing is between the two of you. Don't come home tonight without a truce between you and Kate."

"Well, fuck. I don't know if I can do this."

"Pshaw, Mr. Grey. You're the ultimate wheeler-dealer. Consider it just another merger."

I feel the onset of a headache and a flare-up of my TMJ.

"You don't know what you're asking." I pout, but it doesn't work over the phone. "Any chance you could FaceTime me. I need to see you."

"I know what you're up to, and it won't work. You're doing this for the baby and me." Damn. She can't stop throwing that card.

"You really won't let me come home tonight unless I meet with Katherine?" I hope she can hear my despair through the line.

"Darling, I have a locksmith on speed dial. Take care of this, because you definitely want to come home." Ana lowers her voice. "I just read an article on prostate milking techniques and I need my practice partner."

"Understood, Mrs. Grey. I'll take care of this within the hour."

"I love you, Mr. Grey."

"And I you, baby."

The clatter of Katherine's heels announces her arrival. She greets me with a babble of apologies, going on endlessly about her very demanding boss. I rise, greeting her with a kiss to the cheek.

"Where is everyone? I was sure I'd be the last to arrive."

"It's just the two of us. Sit down and I'll explain."

I pull out her chair. Instead of sitting in the seat I've offered, she places her tote in the chair. She's trying to force me to pull out the other chair, the one nearer to my own. It's just like her to demand the closest proximity.

It won't work, Miss Kavanagh. I'm Christian Grey.

I pull the bag off the seat and gesture for her to take the seat I have offered. For once, she's compliant.

She purses her lips and rolls her eyes.

"Goodness, Christian. Why don't you ever want to sit near me?" She takes a challenging tone. "I've been assured by your brother-I practice excellent personal hygiene."

TMI.

I'm learning it's always best to be upfront with family. She needs to understand it's nothing personal.

"I know Elliot and Mia and Ana have explained it to you," I say. "I've come a long way, but I still like boundaries…space. Unless it's Anastasia, of course."

"Ana is the exception to every rule for you, and I appreciate that." Kavanagh gives me a toothy grin.

I'm thankful for the waiter's speed in bringing water and taking our orders. Katherine and I are each quite familiar with the menu, so that speeds things along, another small thing for which I am grateful.

"Well, Grey, what's this about? And where are Elliot and Ana?"

"They arranged this. They think the two of us should spend more time together, become more comfortable with each other."

"El did say he'd like us to become closer," she says. "I think I'd like that, too."

"Are you uncomfortable with me?" I ask, unsure of what I'm about to hear. I rarely ask questions to which I do not already know the answer, but I'm eager for a resolution to this.

"No…not uncomfortable. But I'd like for us to become brother and sister, true friends the way Ana and Mia are with Elliot and Ethan. You've opened up a bit in the past few weeks, and we've shared a few jokes, mostly at Elliot's expense. But we've never had a meaningful conversation."

"Really? Because I've always thought there was plenty of meaning to our discussions," I say. "We've always been polite to one another."

In my mind I've done everything but open up a vein for Katherine. What more could she want?

"My mom and my uncle barely tolerate each other, and it always meant Ethan and I hardly ever saw our cousins. I don't want that for all of us. I want a close extended family."

Dana Kavanagh is right to steer clear of her brother-in-law. He's an alcoholic ne'er-do-well jackass. I've heard all about how he tried to ride his brother's business coattails, but Eamon put a stop to those machinations.

"I feel a request coming on, Katherine. What do you want from me?" Let's get to the point, so I can get back into my home this evening. She must've sensed my impatience because she rolls her eyes in annoyance.

"You're so frustrating," she huffs. "I only want a chance to get to know you. You're important to the people I care about, and by extension, that makes you important to me. Through Elliot and Ana, and also through your son or daughter, you and I are linked, hopefully for a lifetime. It's to both our benefits that we become friends, teammates. This is important to me, and also to Elliot and Ana."

"Have you discussed this with them?" I don't like the idea of Katherine talking about me with my brother or my wife.

"Yes."

What the fuck. I understand Elliot running his mouth, but Anastasia?

"Well?" I prod her, needing to know what has transpired.

"I asked each of them in separate conversations if they knew of anything I've done to make you dislike me. They don't think I've done anything wrong, but they both said I should ask you about it. I suppose that's why we're here. I need to know what I've done to offend you."

Jesus. She's ballsy and aggressive sometimes, but has Kavanagh offended me?

"Nothing really," I answer with honesty.

"When we speak, I always sense an underlying hostility from you. Where does that come from?" There's hurt in her voice, and she casts her eyes away as she speaks.

Shit. I really have been an asshole.

"I apologize. Any antipathy you feel from me is misplaced."

"I accept your apology, but what can I do to make things better? I feel as if I must have somehow hurt you."

Well, shit. She's so fucking sincere. Katherine Kavanagh is the last person I want to spill my guts to, but I owe her some kind of explanation.

"The truth is I don't share very well. You've known Anastasia much longer than I have, and sometimes I still feel I don't deserve her. She holds you in such high esteem, and I suppose I feel threatened by the relationship you two share. Flynn and I have discussed this. It's silly, I suppose."

"That really is silly. Each of us has a role to play in each other's lives. We can't be everything to our partners."

"But I want Anastasia's world to begin and end with me."

Shit. I sound weak and needy.

"It does. You're the center of her universe. Ana worships the ground you walk on. But she still needs other people in her life. This is why I don't get upset when Elliot gets together with his buddies for guys' night out. Some of his friends are Neanderthals, but it's not for me to stand in the way of his friendships. Those knuckleheads give him something I can't. Just a couple of minutes ago, you told me you like your space. All of us need time and space away from our partners. If you don't give Ana space, she can't step back and see the full spectrum of your magnificence."

Maybe I'm afraid for Ana to stand back and appraise me. She loves me, but what if she changes her mind? She's used the word magnificent to describe my dick, but could she ever think me-all of me-magnificent?

"Do you see Elliot as magnificent?" A small, derisive snort escapes my lips.

"Oh, God, yes. He's the best." Katherine goes all dreamy-eyed and crosses her arms, giving herself a hug.

"When do you see him that way?"

I suppress a laugh at the thought of Elliot the Magnificent. I imagine him in a garish super-hero costume, complete with cape.

"When we walk into a room full of people, everyone is drawn to him. I'm so proud of his friendly, carefree spirit. When I hear him on the phone discussing one of his projects or when I drive by one of his buildings…I'm in awe of his competence. I know it's the same way Ana feels about you."

"Ana is in awe of _me_? People aren't drawn to me the way they are to Elliot."

"They _are_ …you just don't see it. Yours is a different brand of charisma. You have a brooding, mysterious aura, and people are enthralled by how much you've accomplished at such a young age. You're tall, regal, handsome. They're standoffish because they're intimidated. Ana felt that way when she first met you. She was absolutely certain you found her lacking in every possible way."

"No…that can't be. Anastasia captivated me from the start. She's perfect. She's the magnificent one. She takes command of the kitchen, flipping together a meal like it's nothing. I feel cherished when she cooks for me, and proud when we entertain guests. She's so feminine when she delivers her TV commentary, saying what she needs to without being strident. She's patient and kind. She's also very…generous and giving with her love."

"Ooh, that last part was a reference to sex, wasn't it? My girl's a freak in the bedroom, isn't she?" Kate leans forward, eyes wide.

"Jesus, Katherine, I'm not going to discuss that."

"We don't have to discuss it. Your reaction tells me everything I need to know."

"Just in case I haven't told you, you're a perfect match for my asshat brother." They are both relentlessly intrusive.

"Elliot and I are the perfect balance of yin and yang, aren't we?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"But seriously, Grey, you need to make sure to give Ana enough space, so she can fully appreciate you. Women who don't feel like they have a life of their own are always the ones who cheat."

I lose control of my butter knife, and it rattles as it hits the plate.

What the hell is Katherine telling me? If she's trying to upset me, it's working.

"You think Anastasia would cheat?"

I clutch the sides of the table to steady myself.

"No, never. Ana would never cheat. But she might think about it, and you want to head that shit off at the pass."

The mere suggestion that Ana might one day entertain another man in her thoughts has me reeling.

"You're damn right. I don't ever want her thoughts straying in the wrong direction."

My stomach churns and my chest tightens. I blow out a series of short breaths in an attempt to gain control.

"Are you okay? Do I need to get Taylor?" Katherine looks frightened. "Jeez, you look like you're about to have an aneurysm."

"Are you trying to give me one? Because all this talk about Anastasia cheating has me feeling pretty damned close to some kind of coronary event."

"I'm just saying you need to give Ana some space. You've probably heard the rumors about my mother cheating on my father."

Jesus. I can't believe she brought this up.

I like Dana Kavanagh. She's a good woman, but damn, I don't understand why Eamon didn't throw her to the curb.

"Yes," I acknowledge. "I heard she once had a fling with Geoffrey Abramsen. I suppose Elliot knows."

"Of course. Elliot and I have told each other everything. We're working really hard to make our relationship as bulletproof as possible."

"A bulletproof relationship? I want one of those," I say.

"Listen and learn. I bring up Mom as an example of a woman who made a terrible choice. Ethan was five and I was two. Dad worked ridiculous hours. Mom stayed at home. As Dad's world became larger, Mom's became smaller. She began to feel insignificant. She said she didn't even recognize herself after a while. In swoops Abramsen, single, dashing, accomplished, lavishing her with attention. And while Ethan was in kindergarten and I spent mornings at the Montessori preschool, Mom began hooking up with him. It was very selfish of her, but I've come to understand it."

A long, mournful sigh escapes Katherine.

"How is infidelity understandable?" I say. "I like your mother. I'll go so far as to say I'm fond of her, but she should have kept her knees closed. I can't believe your parents are still together."

Katherine presses two fingers to her temple, as if to stave off a headache.

"Dad filed for divorce, but there were custody issues, so they ended up in mediation. The mediator was so good, she got my parents to agree to marital counseling. Over time, Dad came to understand it wasn't about sex for Mom, it was about feeling important and respected in the marriage. She was looking for attention and affirmation. I'm not excusing or condoning her actions. Dad completely took Mom for granted, but as you say, she shouldn't have cheated."

"You're upsetting me, Katherine, and I don't understand why you're telling me all this." I'm afraid of what she's going to tell me.

"I know Ana very well. She's not as capricious as my mother, and I can't imagine her ever cheating on you. You're masterful at lavishing Ana with attention and affection. But if you want her to truly be happy, step back and give her room to create her own identity, even if it's just a hobby she can pursue separate from you."

"That's all I need to do for Anastasia to be happy?"

"Yes. You don't need to buy her anything-though I do have some gift ideas." Katherine winks cheekily. "Men cheat for hot sex, but women generally cheat to affirm their identity. Just keep up all that good loving, don't smother her, and you're good to go."

It all makes sense, and I've found a new respect for Katherine.

"How did you get so smart?"

"Therapy and Ana." Katherine giggles. She can't produce a melody as sweet as Ana's, but I don't hate it.

"I can relate to that." Flynn has helped, but it's Ana who provided the impetus for change.

"See how much we have in common. Back when I lost my baby…and I was in all that trouble…Mom, Dad, Ethan, and I went through family counseling. I've only seen my parents at their best, loving and respectful of one another. But during counseling, I discovered my parents had almost divorced, and the truth of it was good for all of us. It was a cleansing."

"Is that when Ethan became interested in counseling?"

"Yes," Katherine smiles. "He'll make a wonderful therapist."

We resume our silence, and finish our meal. My mind reels at the conversation we just had. I resolve to think of ways Ana can find her passion, her own identity. I certainly don't want some other fucker taking up real estate in her head, or even worse, her bed.

"Christian?" Katherine puts down her fork.

"Yes?" What does she want now?

"I have a confession." Katherine twists her napkin, and tosses it on the table. "Sometimes I'm a tad jealous of you. I'm not Ana's bestie anymore. You're Ana's best friend now."

Katherine's candid confession catches me off guard. This has been an extraordinary conversation.

"Anastasia adores you. You're sisters."

"I know. It's silly." Katherine waves her hand in dismissal of her thoughts.

The moment is awkward, and I feel the need to say something.

"Thank you for the conversation." It's lame, but I don't know what else to say.

"Can we try?" Katherine raises her eyebrows and licks her lip with cautious hope. "Will you be my brother?"

I'd be a complete asshole to answer in any way but the affirmative.

"Sure. And I apologize if I've ever made you feel excluded. I'm working on things, but I still make mistakes."

"Don't be sorry. Be my friend. My brother. And call me Kate."

I resolve to make efforts toward friendship, but no matter what I call her, she'll always be Katherine to me.

"I'll do my best..Kate."

We shake on it, and Katherine relaxes against her chair.

Life is good.

I still have a home.

And there's a reward waiting for me when I get there.


	3. C is for Carla

**Thank you, ramanreinee and nikkistew2, for pre-reading this!**

 **C is for Carla**

 **Friday, September 7, 2012**

 **Christian**

Tybee Island, Georgia, is just a half hour drive from Savannah. We've rented an oceanfront house with the intention of a three night stay. It's autumn in Seattle, but summer still has her clutches on this island. The air is heavy, sultry, laden with sensual promises. I wish the circumstances of our visit were different. This would be a perfect romantic getaway.

But here we are, Sawyer, Reynolds, Ana, Teddy, and me.

Our visit is due to some misplaced sense of duty my wife has toward her ineffectual mother.

"Becoming a mother has made me think I should reach out, let her meet Teddy. A visit will allow me to know I've done all I can to breach our divide. Maybe she'll take one look at Teddy, and turn into a loving grandmother."

"No, baby." I shake my head. "You don't really believe that, do you?"

Ana reaches for Teddy, and I hand him off.

"I suppose not, but I always carry a tiny bit of hope. There's also part of me that wants to rub my mother's nose in it, show her how happy I am. Despite her lack of attention, I've turned out okay. I'm proud of you and Teddy. I'd like to show you off."

"Now that seems like a good reason for a visit. We do have the perfect little family." I plant forehead kisses on both my wife and son.

It's been over a year since my wife has seen her mother.

I've never met my mother-in-law, and Teddy has never met his grandmother.

My father-in-law, Ray, and I disagree on how to handle Carla.

Ray tells Ana, "Love your mother as much as she'll allow."

My approach differs.

"Stop watering dead plants," I tell Ana.

Carla Mae Wilks Lambert Steele Morton Adams was invited to our wedding party, Ana's birthday party, Thanksgiving celebration, Christmas festivities, and baby shower. I thought perhaps Carla might like to visit after Teddy's birth, but she didn't even bother with excuses.

Carla has been a no-show on all accounts. It's funny, but Ana doesn't seem disappointed. Rather, I believe Ana would have been shocked if her mother had actually shown up at one of the events. Ana doesn't just have low expectations of her mother. She has no expectations.

With the diaper bag over one shoulder, I carry a bouquet and a bottle of wine. Ana holds Teddy.

Carla greets us at her door, gushing over how terrific it is to see us.

"Christian Grey. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Adams."

When Carla moves in for a hug, I successfully hold her at arm's length. But when I lean down to kiss her cheek, she turns her face in an attempt to press her lips to mine. I push her away, and just in the nick of time.

"Mom!" Ana chastises, but Carla doesn't have the decency to be embarrassed.

"I'm just happy you two are here, sweetheart. It's so lovely to finally meet my son-in-law."

Carla's eyes rake over me, and land on my soft bulge. She's disgusting, and reminds me of a certain someone I used to know.

"Mom, there are three of us. Meet your grandson, Theodore Steele Grey. We call him Teddy."

"Hello, Teddy." She smiles at her grandson, but makes no move to touch him.

"Bob!" Carla shouts. "Bob, they're here."

Bob appears to be in his late fifties. His once dark brown hair is now about fifty percent gray.

Introductions are made and we move from the foyer to the living area. As we make small talk, Ana pulls a throw from the diaper bag, lays it out, and sits on the floor with Teddy. She amuses him with some rattles and blocks. When she pulls out his fuzzy purple monster, Teddy makes excited noises. He's seven months old, and absolutely perfect.

"How many connections did you have to make?" Bob asks. "Flying is bad enough, but it rankles me when I have to run from gate to gate and then miss a connection."

"It was non-stop," I tell them.

"From Seattle to Savannah?" Bob is incredulous. "Which airline is this?"

"Mine," I chuckle, thinking how snotty it sounds. "I have my own plane, a Gulfstream 550. For a small jet, it has quite a range. We can fly from Seattle to London on one tank of gas."

Bob goes slack-jawed at my explanation.

"Wow. I had no idea," Bob says. "Did you know that, honey? The kid owns a jet."

"That's wonderful," Carla says. Her tone carries resentment.

"I pulled out the camera earlier," Bob tells her. "Hun, lemme get some pics of you and little Teddy."

"I'm far too young to be a grandma. But I suppose a grandmother should hold her grandchild."

Carla's embrace of Teddy is tentative, wary.

Not wanting us to be caught off guard if Teddy cried upon meeting Carla, mother warned us that Teddy has reached an age where stranger anxiety may be an issue. But Teddy is smiling sweetly at Carla, reaching for her gold chains.

Carla is a most reluctant grandmother. In sharp contrast, my mother, Mama K, and Grandmother Trevelyan regularly jockey for opportunities to hold Teddy. My son is well-loved.

Bob takes several shots.

"Let's get Ana and Christian in the pictures." Bob waves over to the two of us.

Ana steps forward next to Carla, and I stand behind Ana, my arms wrapped around her. Carla scoots back so her side is pressed against mine. I readjust and pull Ana back with me. We do this dance a couple more times, before Carla gives up.

"Oh, shit," Carla mutters. "He threw up on me."

Teddy gurgles and smiles sweetly at Carla.

"Take him back," Carla orders.

There's a tiny, almost imperceptible wet spot on Carla's shoulder.

"Happily," I reply, relieved to have Teddy out of her clutches.

"Ew." Carla grimaces, tugging at the fabric of her blouse.

"He just burped up a little breast milk," Ana explains. "Take a cold, wet cloth and wipe it off. It comes out in the wash."

"Oh, my God. You're breastfeeding?"

The concept seems incomprehensible to Carla.

"Of course I am," Ana tells her. "It's what's best for babies."

"But what about you? You'll be playing soccer with yourself, if you keep that up."

"That's ridiculous," Ana scoffs.

"You won't think it's ridiculous when your husband starts noticing other women."

"I'm standing right here," I remind Carla. "And I'm proud of Anastasia for being such a devoted mother."

"How does it feel to be a grandmother?" Ana asks in an attempt to be conciliatory.

"I'm too young to be anyone's grandmother. After all, my baby factory isn't closed yet. Teddy could be mine."

"But he's not," I interrupt, affixing Carla with a potent glare. "Like it or not, you're his grandmother."

"What do you want Teddy to call you?" Ana asks. She's trying so hard to make nice.

"Well not Grandma, Granny, or anything like that. How about he just calls me Carla?"

"Whatever you want, Mom." Ana sounds weary.

I bend down, give Ana a kiss, and position Teddy so Ana can steal a kiss from him. Ana and I pepper Teddy with kisses, making smacking noises until he laughs out loud.

"Damn," Bob says, "that's one cute kid. Looks like his dad, except for the blue eyes."

"He got my eyes," Carla says. "It's just like you and I had a baby, Christian."

"No," I correct, smiling at my wife. "He has Ana's eyes, gentle and kind."

"Let's get this show on the road," Carla says through gritted teeth. "Are you hungry? I'm roasting a chicken. Shouldn't be more than twenty minutes."

"Smells good," Ana observes.

"You've put on some weight," Carla tells Ana. "It looks good, but one more ounce and you'll tread into frumpy housewife territory."

 _Oh, bitch. Don't even think about going down that road._

"Anastasia couldn't possibly look frumpy. She's elegant, the most beautiful woman on Earth."

"Everyone says Ana looks like me," Carla prods. "What do you think, Christian?"

"She doesn't look like you, or anyone else. Anastasia is set apart from others, in a class by herself."

My wife blushes at my words.

"I've never had issues with my weight, but honestly, Ana, you do need to keep an eye on the scale." Carla is relentless.

"Anastasia is nursing, and she needs to stay well-nourished and hydrated for that. I'm very proud of her for taking such good care of herself, as well as Teddy and me. Do not speak negatively of her, or we'll go elsewhere for dinner."

"This is between my daughter and me. There's no need to concern yourself."

"Anything you say to my wife is my concern. No one disrespects her."

If Carla wants to square off against me, I welcome the confrontation.

Ana cradles Teddy in her arms and leans into me. I am her shelter and she is mine.

Bob stands off to the side looking helpless and lost. He has no idea what's going down.

"I don't think you understand how mothers and daughters interact," Carla tells me. "It's normal for mothers to give their daughters advice. I'm only trying to be helpful."

Teddy is restless, so I take him from Ana. Her arms now empty, Ana crosses them tightly. She wants to leave, and so do I.

"Mrs. Adams, I grew up observing the interactions of my mother and sister. Not once did my mother criticize my sister's appearance, and now that my sister is grown, advice is given only upon request. Unless Anastasia asks for your opinion, keep it to yourself."

Carla gives us a scorching look, and retreats to the kitchen.

"Thank you for standing up for me. I could have done it myself, but your possessiveness felt nice. Do you know how much you mean to me?"

"I do know," I tell her.

I pull the three of us into a Teddy sandwich, provoking more baby giggles.

"Pack up," I whisper to Ana. She nods and scoops up Teddy's blanket and toys.

"Bob, do you mind if I take a look at that camera of yours? It seems like a nice one."

"I'm pretty happy with it," he says. He picks it up off the coffee table and hands it to me. "It's a Canon T6. Carla got it for me on QVC. It was a Today's Special Value."

The bitch probably sits in front of the TV all day, spending Bob's money. I'd like to show her what special value really means.

Teddy reaches for the camera. I watch as a big plop of his spittle lands on the lens cap.

Nice aim. That's my boy.

"What if you take a photograph and then decide you don't want it?" I ask.

I hand Teddy to Ana, who stands at the ready, diaper bag over her shoulder.

"Easy," drawls Bob. "You just flick back through the pictures, hover over the image, and push delete."

"Like this?" I ask, as I scroll, deleting all the pictures he took earlier.

"What the hell." Bob steps back in confusion. "Whadja do that for?"

I return the camera to the coffee table. I shake my head at the hapless fool doomed to live with a harpy.

"Bob, could you get Carla for us?" Ana asks. "Something's come up."

"Sure." Bob pulls on an earlobe. "Is anything wrong?"

"No," Ana tells him. "I just need to speak to my mother."

Bob retreats. I almost feel sorry for the idiot.

"You can do this, baby. You need to do this. Stop watering dead plants."

Ana nods and smiles. She's at peace.

Carla approaches, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

"Ana...what's going on? You're all packed up."

"Yes, we're leaving." Ana says. "Despite the way you've treated Daddy and me, we've always shown you love and respect. But you don't recognize those concepts, and you'll never be able to reciprocate. Each time I visit is worse than the time before. Here and now, the cycle of abuse ends. Bye, Mama."

Carla is speechless.

"Nice to meet you, Bob," I say. "Thanks for the hospitality."

"Good luck," Anastasia tells Bob. "You'll need it."

My girl reaches for my hand, and we stroll off into the most beautiful sunset I've ever seen.


	4. D is for Daddy

**D is for Daddy**

 **Wednesday, May 9, 2012**

 **Anastasia**

The Flynns will be here in a few minutes, and I've just now set the table. Teddy is on my right tit, and should be almost finished with his dinner by the time they arrive. Gail is putting the vegetables in the oven to roast, and she assures me all will be well. What do other mothers do? Those who don't have a Gail to assist them?

To insure he'd be here for the Flynns' arrival, Christian came home an hour early. He's not enthused over this middle of the week get together. My genius husband has surely divined the reason for the meeting, and probably wants no part of it.

Christian jumped into fatherhood with gusto, but Flynn was right to warn us there would be adjustments.

Teddy was post-term. He was a Leap Day baby, arriving on February 29, weighing 9 pounds, 10 ounces, with a length of 22 inches. He had little wisps of red hair and long fingers. Like father, like son. We decided against circumcision.

Christian was an amazing birth coach, supporting me through a textbook labor and delivery. From water breaking to delivery was sixteen hours. Christian was the first person to touch Teddy, and he cut the cord.

His words of love and appreciation made me feel completely cherished, and he presented me with the most perfect push present. He remembered how much I had admired the charms in that little boutique, the place where I bought a candle and teas for his mother and grandmother. He commissioned Cartier to design two special gold charms. One is an amethyst, Teddy's birthstone. The other is engraved ' _Theodore Steele Grey, 2-29-2012'_ with a perfect miniaturized copy of his footprints on the other side. I now have a bracelet that will be added to with each addition to our family. In addition, Christian donated ten million dollars in my name to various children's charities.

Christian took two weeks off after the birth, pampering me and jumping to pick up Teddy at the slightest whimper. He relished diaper duty and watched in awe as I nursed Teddy. As thrilled as he seemed, sometimes a sadness would come over him. When I asked what was wrong, he shut me down, saying nothing was amiss.

"Stop asking. Everything's perfect, baby," he reassured.

Except things didn't feel perfect. I felt like the stereotypical nag, constantly begging Christian to talk to me.

In my foggy postpartum brain, I analyzed Christian's behavior.

Is the business failing? When I listen to Christian and Ros talk, everything seems fine. Christian adores Teddy. It can't be Teddy. Is there another woman? I don't think so. Is he disappointed in me? My figure is almost back to normal, but maybe he's not attracted to me, and he's afraid to tell me. Is there some kind of Madonna-whore complex at work here? I think of his painting collection, which now graces our new foyer. Has motherhood suddenly made me unattractive?

I don't understand, and worse, I don't feel I can talk to anyone about the situation.

In his fifth week of life, while his Aunt Mia was over for dinner, Teddy gifted me with his first smile. He had just finished his supper, and as soon as he released my breast, I told him what a good job he had done. To Christian and me, everything Teddy does is perfect, from pooping to burping.

"You always eat so well. Daddy and I are so proud of you."

And there it was. A smile that could light up the world.

"Oh, my God!" Mia hollered. "Christian, come look at Teddy. Christian!"

My handsome man, who had been in the kitchen getting a beer, bounded into the room.

"What's wrong? Is Teddy okay?" Christian's face was a picture of fright.

"He's fine," I said. "He just smiled for the first time."

Christian's face fell in disappointment. I thought he'd be happy.

"Here, take him," I say. "Let's see if he'll do it again."

Christian took Teddy from my arms, but despite all his efforts to produce a smile, Teddy refused to cooperate, promptly drifting off to sleep. This incident seemed to exacerbate Christian's dark mood.

As soon as we were given the green light, we resumed intercourse, a relief to both of us.

"I never thought I'd say this, baby, but the daily blow jobs were getting repetitive. It's nice to be back in the saddle again," he said. But things in the bedroom haven't been the same. It's felt as if we're going through the motions, having sex because…well, that's what Ana and Christian do.

It doesn't help that Teddy's cries interrupt us at inopportune times.

I've feared Christian's dysthymia has turned into some deeper form of depression. I'm battling my own case of the blues, so I'm not exactly the best support for my husband. I can't help him, and he can't help me.

Before Teddy's arrival, Christian had been eager to taste breast milk, but now he's lost interest in that. He's paid my breasts no attention, assiduously avoiding them.

Before the birth, we had vowed our baby wouldn't hold us back from all the activities we love. But even with our army of security and household help, we can't pull ourselves together. We've fallen into a state of marital entropy, and I have no idea how to yank us out of it.

If only he would talk to me about it, instead of dismissing me. Several times I've suggested he call Flynn, but he's been resistant, saying he's come far enough, and doesn't need Flynn anymore.

"I'm a husband and father now. I should be able to handle problems without running to Flynn every five minutes."

"That's silly. Everyone needs help from time to time."

"Silly?" My husband replied in anger. "I'd appreciate it, if you'd refrain from referring to my thoughts as silly."

"I apologize, but it's not a show of weakness to seek counsel."

"Drop it." Christian turned his back, dismissing me from further interaction.

He has shut me out, and it hurts.

Months ago Christian stopped having regular sessions with Flynn. Now he goes in on an "as needed" basis. Something is clearly wrong, and I don't understand why he hasn't made an appointment.

My frustration has been escalating, to the point I've been afraid I'll go off on Christian. But I always hold back, sensing he's too fragile for an aggressive encounter.

Despite my best efforts to remain publicly chipper, Kate has picked up on my underlying gloom. Knowing something is off, she cornered me a couple of weeks ago at one of Grace's Sunday dinners.

"It's nothing," I told her. "Christian and I are suffering from lack of sleep, and my hormones are out of whack. Please don't worry."

"I don't buy it. But out of respect for your privacy, I'll drop it." Kate wrapped me in a hug. "I'm here, if you need me."

I need support, and as much as I'd like to unload on Kate, I can't do that without violating Christian's trust and privacy.

With no alternatives left, I decided to call John Flynn. He is a friend and counsel to both of us. I explained my concerns to John, and asked him to bring his family over for a casual Wednesday night dinner.

We rarely have dinner guests in the middle of the week, but if Christian is suspicious about my motives for inviting the Flynns to dinner, he doesn't express it.

So here we are, Wednesday night with the Flynns.

After a pleasant meal of roast beef, John steers Christian to the study. I strap eight-week-old Teddy into the baby carrier and give Rhian and the boys a tour of the grounds, showing off the spot for a soon to be constructed play area.

I stay away from the house as long as I dare, giving John as much time as possible with Christian. When Rhian and I return to the house, Christian and John appear relaxed and jovial. They've made plans to attend a Mariners game in a couple of weeks. GEH has a box at Safeco Field. John will bring his sons and his brother, who will be visiting from England. Carrick, Elliot, Ethan, Eamon, and Raj will also attend.

The visit with John has put Christian in a pleasant mood, but as soon as the last goodbye has been said to the Flynns, Christian kicks the front door closed.

"Feed Teddy and put him to bed," my husband orders in a brusque tone. "Now."

I look at my watch. It's a little past eight.

"He's not hungry," I say. "And he's already asleep."

"Good. Put him to bed. We need to talk."

I survey my husband's handsome face.

He's not angry.

He's sad. Brooding.

And he needs to tell me something. I'm filled with dread.

I take Teddy upstairs to the nursery, the small bedroom across from ours. I don't bother to put Teddy's sleeper on, leaving him in his pants, shirt, and socks.

Upon my return, Christian greets me with a glass of wine. Then he sits, pulling me down with him, so I land on his lap.

"I was angry with you at first, baby, for getting Flynn over here. But I do know you love me, and sometimes you know what's best for me, even when I can't see it."

I put my glass down and caress his face.

"I do love you, but I have to ask. Do you not love me anymore?" There it is, my deepest, darkest fear.

Christian jerks his head back and fixes me with an incredulous stare.

"How can you ask me that? I love you with every fiber of my being."

"You've cut me off," I say.

"What do you mean?"

"You won't tell me what's wrong."

"I've been ashamed of what I've been feeling. It's difficult to admit."

Does he want a submissive? Panic rises within me. If that's what he wants, I can't give it to him.

"Out with it. Tell me," I implore. "I'm imagining the worst."

Christian closes his eyes, and leans back, pulling me to his chest. I close my eyes too, bracing for whatever pain might follow.

"It's complicated, baby. I love Teddy. I'd lay down my life for him. But I'm having a hard time."

"I know how much you adore Teddy. You're a wonderful father."

"Well, here's the thing. I'm not such a great father. I'm jealous of Teddy. I'm fucking jealous of an eight-week-old baby. I'm jealous of my own son."

What?! This is the last thing I expected to hear.

"Why? What would you possibly have to be jealous of?"

"It's crazy, I know, but I'm both grateful and jealous that Teddy has you for a mother. You're a wonderful mother, so attentive and loving, and I'm so fucking grateful for that. But I'm jealous of the bond between the two of you. I'm jealous that he spends all his time with you, because I want you all to myself. You love him more than you love me. And every time I turn around, he's on your tit. He smiles all the time for you. Teddy's got all the shit I've ever wanted, and I'm fucking jealous. And it's fucking shameful and embarrassing to feel this way."

"Christian Grey. You listen to me." I sit up straight and grasp his chin, forcing him to look at me. "You know a mother's love is different from any other kind of love. It's not that I love Teddy more. It's just a different kind of love. And Teddy does smile for you. He smiles all the time. He's a very happy baby."

"Of course he's happy. He's sucking your tits all day."

Oh, my darling man. You are impossible.

"About the nursing...I've been wondering...you haven't gone near my boobs since Teddy was born. Do they look so different that you don't want them anymore?"

"Baby, your tits are as beautiful as ever, but they're no longer mine. They belong to Teddy now. I don't want to take my kid's food away."

Ah. Christian and his ever present food issues.

"The human body is a wondrous thing. If you drink some of my milk, it will increase my milk supply. And my breasts were yours before they were ever Teddy's. They'll always belong to you. They're just on loan to our children."

Christian ever so slowly pulls open the folds of my nursing top.

"Is it okay? I just want a taste." I nod. He unhooks one side of my nursing bra, and then the other. He palms my breasts, then puts a hand under each. "These puppies are heavy. Are you sure there's enough?"

"Yes."

I kiss my husband. Softly, sweetly. He returns the kiss, deepening it.

I reach over and turn off the end table lamp. I put two throw pillows under Christian's head, and we arrange ourselves, so he can nurse.

"I want to play with them first," he says, pinching my nipples.

Christian nips, nibbles, and squeezes my breasts, making a bit of a mess. He suckles for a couple of minutes on each side. His latch is strong, and he knows how to use his tongue to arouse me. It's very different from nursing an infant.

"I like this," I tell him.

"Me too, baby. Breast milk is very sweet. I had no idea. I need some of this to take to work for my coffee."

"That can easily be arranged."

"Baby, are we gonna be okay?" Christian rubs the back of his neck. His brow crinkles with worry.

"Why wouldn't we be? As long as we know what the problem is, we can handle it."

"You don't hate me for feeling the way I do?" He fiddles with the charms on my bracelet, not making eye contact. "I"ve been feeling so needy and pathetic, so out of control."

"I can't imagine ever hating you, and I like needy Christian. I hope you'll always need me. We've got to learn how to juggle everything…being parents and lovers. Will you help me figure that out?"

Christian sits up and flips me onto my back.

"Sure." A wicked grin slowly surfaces, as one hand works its way under the waistband of my leggings. "Let's begin with a thorough fucking on this sofa."

"That sounds like the perfect place to start."

 **XXXXXXX**

 **Thank you for taking the time to review. Your feedback is important to me.**


	5. E is for Eavesdrop

**E is for Eavesdrop**

 **Christian**

 **Monday, August 27, 2012**

Ana, Teddy, and I are in the waiting room at my mother's practice. We've been here before for wellness checks, but never had to wait. Today it's packed. Fortunately, Teddy is a happy baby and easily entertained.

It's Monday morning and the doctors are trying to squeeze in some sick patients. The receptionist offered to move us to the head of the queue, but that would upset Ana, so I told her to treat us like everyone else. Mother's practice is large and busy, considered the best in Seattle.

We're finally shown to an exam room, where Ana undresses Teddy down to his diaper. We're waiting for Dr. Morrissey, one of mother's associates. As much as Ana and I would love for Mother to serve as Teddy's physician, it's a conflict of interest. It's one thing for Mother to pop in at home and check on him when he has the sniffles, but quite another to be his primary provider.

I want to catch my mother between patients, so Teddy and I can say hello.

"Baby, I'm going to find Mother."

Ana nods and pulls a cotton knit blanket from the diaper bag.

"Don't be long, please," Ana says, as she wraps Teddy in the blanket. "Dr. Morrissey should be here any minute. I hate to keep her waiting."

I kiss Ana's forehead, and turn to find my mother.

Teddy hears his Grandmother Grace's voice and searches for her. When he sees her, he's a bundle of excitement, kicking his feet, trying to work his way out of my arms.

"Let me wash my hands first, sweet boy." Grace washes up at the small sink, and winks at Teddy. "I'm so sorry, but we're backed up this morning. In fact, I only have time for hugs and kisses. Dr. Morrissey suddenly pulled up stakes and decided to move to Hawaii, so we have a new associate who will be seeing Teddy this morning. Did you have fun sailing this weekend? Mia certainly had a good time. She still has such a crush on Ethan Kavanagh."

I hand Teddy off to his grandmother and the two of them coo at each other. Their mutual affection really is something to behold.

"Ana believes Ethan returns Mia's feelings, but thinks something is holding him back. We all had a great time. Sorry you and Dad couldn't join us. How's his knee?"

"Your dad is healing up nicely, especially considering it's only been a week since he had surgery. He'll be back to his tennis and golf in no time."

"That's wonderful. Ana and I thought we might do a family game night on Friday. Ray is coming into town for the weekend. Kate and Elliot are free. Mia needs to check her calendar, and Ana hasn't called the Kavanaghs yet. She says she'll do something simple for dinner, like lasagna or chili."

Teddy pulls at his grandmother's hair. She makes frowny faces, and he laughs. He's making a mess of her hair, but she doesn't seem to mind.

"I'll double check with Cary, but as far as I know we're free. You know we won't pass up an opportunity to be with our favorite people." Grace kisses Teddy's cheeks and hands him back to me. Then she wraps her arms around the two of us for a double hug. "Love you three, and I'll call Ana tonight about Friday."

As I approach our exam room, I hear the tinkle of Ana's sweet laughter and a deep male voice.

I poke my head in the door, and there's a tall, dark-haired stranger in a white coat twirling my wife around. Is this the new associate mother mentioned? Does Anastasia know him? What's with all the fuckers twirling my wife? Rodriguez, Kavanagh, Clayton, Elliot, and now this asshat.

"I've missed you, little girl," the stranger tells my wife. "You look so different. All grown up. It's only been a couple of years since I've seen you, but I almost didn't recognize you."

She does know this guy. What the hell!

I move out of sight. My parents always taught me eavesdropping was rude, but I can't help myself. If my wife has secrets, I want to know. As if he knows I'm doing something wrong, Teddy grabs hold of my hair and pulls it. Shit, that hurts.

"My gosh, you're a sight for sore eyes. How long have you been in Seattle?"

"A couple of months. I love it here, and this group is great. It's a large practice, busy, fast-paced."

"So you're finished with Doctors Without Borders? The last letter you sent was from Uganda."

"I was only there a short time. Then I was sent to the Congo and Libya. I finally decided it was time to give up my nomadic life, find a good woman, and settle down."

No, motherfucker. Not with my woman, you don't. She's mine.

"I'm so happy to see you again," Anastasia says. I recognize the warmth and sincerity in her reply, and it worries me.

"The last few letters I sent were returned. Ana…I thought maybe you were upset with me for some reason."

"How could I ever be upset with you? Kate and I moved to Seattle and some of our mail never got forwarded."

"Oh, well, I feel better…now that I understand what happened."

"Still building furniture? Or have your hobbies changed?"

"I had to give that up when I was abroad, but I'm back at it now, currently making a trestle table for my new place. You need to come over and spend time with me. God, Ana. It's so damned good to see you. You look even more beautiful than when we said goodbye back in Portland. You always looked hot...but you're more fuckable than ever now."

"Jerry! You can't say things like that to me."

This is torture, but I need to hear it. What is this man to her?

"And why not? Why can't I say the things I couldn't say before? The only reason I never pushed you back in Portland was the age difference. That, and you seemed skittish about men."

"Skittish? Never. I just hadn't found the right man."

She's not admitting fully to the truth. From what I've heard by way of Kate and Ethan, Anastasia was indeed quite skittish around men. Then she met me. So she's correct in saying she hadn't yet found the right man.

"Ouch. That hurts. You never considered me boyfriend material? I certainly spent time thinking about the two of us, and being alone with you." The doctor's voice is deep, husky, and I know exactly what he spent time thinking about. "How did you become a nanny? And where's your charge? I thought I was seeing an infant."

Teddy is quiet, contentedly sucking on two fingers. His little head is nestled under my chin.

"What makes you think I'm a nanny? Teddy is my son. His father took him out of the room for a moment."

"What? I'm sorry, Ana, it never occurred to me. How did this happen?"

Anastasia laughs out loud at Jerry's confusion.

"Don't look so shocked. Since you last saw me, I've gotten married. I'm Dr. Trevelyan's daughter-in-law. I married her younger son, Christian. We have a son."

Anastasia's friend quickly reads through the chart.

"Theodore Steele Grey. Six months old. Wow. Congratulations. Are you happy?"

"We call him Teddy. Happier than I ever dreamed. Remember those talks we had, all my fears and confusion. I never thought I'd find someone, but Christian is perfect for me. He's the best husband and father. Simply the best."

I decide it's time to reveal myself. I step into the doorway.

"When you talk about your husband, I'm envious. I hope a woman gets all dreamy-eyed over me one day. He's a lucky man."

"Christian and I are both lucky. And one day you'll find the right person, too."

I walk behind my wife, and the doctor's eyes widen with recognition. I kiss the back of her head.

"Hi, baby. Teddy and I found Mother. She sends her love, and says she'll call you about games night."

Ana gives me a peck on the lips, and reaches for our son.

"Darling, I want you to meet a friend of mine. This is Jerry Goldsmith. He did his residency in Portland, and I met him at Clayton's Hardware. Jerry, this is my husband, Christian, and our son, Teddy."

Goldsmith and I shake hands, eyeing each other warily.

"It's always good to meet my wife's friends," I tell him.

"Nice to meet you," he says. "And you, too, Teddy." Teddy is cuddled up against Anastasia's chest. Goldsmith touches Teddy's hand, which is too close to Anastasia's boobs for my liking.

Zeroing in on my wife's tits, Goldsmith asks Anastasia if she's nursing Teddy.

"Yes, I'll continue, at least until his first birthday. Then I'd like to take a break for a bit before we try for another baby. We're hoping for a large family," she tells her friend.

That's right, numb nuts. I'm going to fuck my wife at every opportunity, and keep her filled with my seed.

"I always knew you'd make a wonderful mother," he replies. "Any children born to you are indeed blessed." At least there's one thing Goldsmith and I can agree on.

Anastasia sits Teddy on the padded exam table, and rests one hand on his back. He has a strong back and has been able to sit up unassisted for almost a month now, but Anastasia is very safety conscious, and this exam table is high. Teddy finds a new toy, pulling at the paper covering the table, crinkling and tearing it.

"Teddy is in the 90th percentile for height, and 70th percentile for weight. He looks wonderful." Goldsmith holds out the end of his stethoscope to Teddy. "Buddy, let's listen to your heart."

My wife and her friend chatter away, discussing the introduction of solids, immunizations, and Teddy's recent milestones. Thankfully the doctor has ceased flirting with my wife, and the appointment is now focused on Teddy, who is pronounced the most perfect specimen of a baby. Of course, he's perfect. He's the product of his parents' perfect love.

I hold Teddy while he receives his vaccinations, and he cries himself to sleep while Anastasia dresses him.

"Thank you, Jerry," she says. "I'm so pleased you're Teddy's pediatrician. You must come for dinner soon."

Goldsmith reaches into his pocket for a post-it, and writes what I assume to be his cell number.

"I'd love to. Call me. I've missed that famous lasagna of yours."

It's clear to see. Jerry's missed more than her lasagna.

One thing's for certain, I won't ever miss one of Teddy's check-ups. I'll be at every appointment.

I shake Goldsmith's hand, but then the ass wipe has to go kiss Anastasia's cheek, and whisper in her ear. I can't get Teddy into his stroller fast enough. It's a relief to walk out of there.

"What did he say to you?" I grit my teeth in frustration, and punch at the elevator button.

"He's glad to see me so happy."

"Why would he have to whisper that? And why have I never heard mention of him before?"

"You've never heard of him, because since I met you, I've barely given him a passing thought. I've never wanted to be with any man other than you. You are perfect for me."

"He wants you. You're mine, Anastasia."

"Yes, I'm yours. Now that Jerry knows I'm married, he'll let it be."

"And what makes you so sure about that?" Damn that Jerry. And where's the elevator? I've pushed the button three times.

"Jerry and I had a good friendship. When I would go on break at the hardware store, Jerry sometimes took me to lunch or out for a cup of tea. We got along well and the conversation was easy between us. We could talk about anything and everything. He respects me and he has a strong respect for marriage. Jerry would never cross a line."

"Why didn't you date him?"

"I was eighteen when I met him, and he's eleven years older. He was way too worldly for me. But most importantly, I didn't feel any kind of sexual attraction for him."

"He's not too worldly for you now. Do you feel an attraction for him?"

At long last the elevator arrives. The car is empty, which makes the stroller easier to navigate. Teddy is out for the count. That appointment drained him and me, in different ways, of course.

"No. I only feel an attraction for you, my darling man. But I have to admit something to you, and I hope you won't be upset."

Oh, shit. This can't be good.

"Go ahead," I tell her. "We're supposed to be honest with one another."

"I don't feel any attraction for Jerry, but I could tell he felt something for me. And I liked that feeling of being desired. I felt flattered."

"I desire you. Isn't that enough?"

"Yes, it's more than enough. I want you, Christian. It will always be you. The Jerry thing is just gravy. Harmless gravy."

"Let's go home, baby. I'll show you real gravy."

I don't want to go back to the office yet. I need to be inside my wife. I press her against the elevator wall, and kiss her deeply, grinding my dick against her. She whimpers, making those tiny sounds that tell me she's aroused.

"Yes, sir," she says. "By the way, it's considered bad manners to eavesdrop."

"You knew I was listening?"

I pepper her neck with kisses.

"I always know when you're nearby."

She squeezes my ass, one hand on each cheek.

"You're not upset with me?"

"Does it look that way? Right now I can't remember my own last name, much less Jerry's. Take me home."

 **XXXXXXX**


	6. F is for Friendship

**F is for Friendship**

 **Tuesday, June 23, 2015**

 **Christian**

I flip through the contacts in my phone and feel a sense of accomplishment.

I have friends.

My life has changed dramatically, since I fell in love with Anastasia. She is my confidant, my cheerleader, my lover.

And by a country mile, she is the closest friend I will ever have.

It wasn't so very long ago, I was convinced Elena Lincoln was my friend. Not just my friend, but my one and only, very best friend. Elena is dead and buried, and for the most part, so are the residual effects of her abuse.

But Elena was so adept at controlling me, I had no idea I was surrounded by friendship. Maybe it wasn't the deep, abiding friendship I share with Anastasia or even Elliot, but I did have friends.

Some of my friends started out as employees or business associates, like Ros, Taylor, Gail, Flynn, and Bastille, but they became more. They know me and keep my secrets because they want to, not because they're paid to. They share jokes and treat me like a regular guy.

I carry a great deal of resentment toward Elena for discouraging me from spending time with my siblings. Elliot and Mia have always been my friends, though I haven't always recognized it. Behind Anastasia, they are my dearest friends.

Ana came with some built-in friends, Kate and Ethan Kavanagh, and I've now adopted them as my own. In early days, I was wary of this brother/sister duo, but they've become most excellent friends.

Kate is not just my sister-in-law, but has become more like a sister. Kate is my go-to for any surprise I plan for Ana. If I'm in doubt about something Ana-related, I check in with Kate. It turns out her instincts about my wife are spot on. Ethan is easy-going, mixing well with any group. He enjoys having a good time, but possesses a serious side as well.

José Rodriguez holds the distinction of being my first frenemy. I'm proud of being able to coexist with him. For the sake of Ana and Ray, I keep the peace.

The friendship I'm proudest of is the one I created all by myself. The first time I met him was at the wedding reception Ana and I threw for ourselves at the Mile High.

We didn't get to talk much at our first meeting, but from the beginning, he and I spoke the same language.

As Ana and I mingled with our guests before dinner, I saw a stranger at the bar. I knew he'd been vetted by my security, but I decided to check him out for myself.

"Rajiv Saxena, Bandi's plus one. Call me Raj." The stranger and I shared a handshake. "Congrats, man. Great party."

"Christian Grey. Good to meet you."

"You, too. I admire your security set-up," he said. "Vetting us, ID checks at the door, parking garage guards. I get it. Well done."

I think this guy is the first person who has ever shown appreciation for my elaborate security.

"Thanks. How do you and Bandi know each other?"

"We're in talks for an arranged marriage." He must have sensed my confusion, because after a beat, he explained. "It's part of our family tradition. Our fathers are friends."

"An arranged marriage…How does that work?" I've always associated arranged marriages with a different time and place, certainly not Seattle, USA, circa 2011.

"In our case, Bandi and I have been very career-oriented, working long hours with no time to date. Our fathers are business associates. Both families are from the same caste and same region of India, and though Bandi and I are both born here in the US, we've grown up with this custom."

"What about love?" I asked. The appeal of a contract is never lost on me, but after experiencing Ana's bountiful love, I can't imagine entering a marriage without it.

"We're assured the love will follow. Romantic love isn't in my wheelhouse, but I do have special feelings for Bandi."

Raj scanned the room to find her. He doesn't seem happy when he spies her in a corner chatting with Barney.

"Don't worry about Barney. He's harmless," I said, in an attempt to reassure my new acquaintance. "He's not trying to get into her panties."

Raj choked on his bourbon.

"That's extraordinary. How did you know what I was thinking?"

"I just knew," I shrugged. "What line of work are you in?"

"I'm a neurosurgeon, living in Los Angeles."

"If you marry, will Bandi join you there?" I wondered if Eamon Kavanagh knows about this potential marriage. He's put a lot of money behind Bandi's syndication deal.

"No, our arrangement would require me to relocate."

"Won't that affect your medical practice?"

"That's the beauty of medicine. I'm extremely good at what I do. Some people say I'm the best," he stated matter-of-factly. "I can pull up stakes and my career won't skip a beat. By the way, thanks for having me. Bandi and I are getting to know one another, and a wedding is a good event for us to attend. It's got us talking about some things. Sounds like you and I share some of the same marriage goals."

"Really? Like what?"

"A large family. I expect Bandi to be prepared to pop out some babies right away. She and I aren't getting any younger, and I don't want to be an old dad, unable to play sports with his children."

"For me a large family binds me closer to Ana. She may get disgusted with me, but how can she leave me, if we have a dozen children?" I laughed, only half joking.

"I know exactly what you mean." Raj leaned in conspiratorially. "I'm not the easiest man to live with. By the time Bandi discovers how bad my OCD is, I'm hoping we'll have a couple of cute kids to make her stay. I hear you have a catamaran. I do, too."

"Where's she moored now?"

"Marina del Rey. I'm moving as soon as I seal the deal with Bandi. Our folks have settled their end of things, but Bandi and I haven't reached an accord yet."

"I hear you. I hope you can define your limits and reach an agreement. You seem really into her."

"Bandi's a prize. I'll never find a better woman. I can see you feel the same way about your bride."

The conversation came to a close when Elliot slapped me on the shoulder.

"I hate to break up the bromance," Elliot teased, "but it's time to get seated for dinner."

Raj and I said our goodbyes, but I felt proud of myself for carrying on a relatively personal conversation with someone I had just met. I was so proud I had to tell Anastasia right away. I even bragged to Flynn, who expressed pride in my accomplishment. I might have also seen a tear in the corner of his eye. His boy was growing up.

Our next meeting was two weeks later when Raj and Bandi came to dinner at the penthouse. Ana prepared coq au vin, which was perfection. Bandi showed off her engagement ring, and Raj announced they would marry as soon as possible.

"I think I'm going to enjoy Seattle," Raj said. "It'll be kinda crazy, learning a new city, adjusting to marriage, starting a new practice, but I'm looking forward to the challenge."

"I'm happy to assist in your relocation. If it'll save you time, I could have my skipper, Mac, sail your boat from Marina del Rey to Seattle. I believe you met him at the wedding celebration."

"Yes, I enjoyed chatting with Mac. I'll take you up on that offer. That would be most helpful. Thank you."

Raj seemed touched by my offer. I looked over to Anastasia who gave me an encouraging smile, proud of my efforts. The dinner went so well, the four of us made plans for the next time Raj would be in town.

That's how our how friendship started. Both Raj and I work about eighty hours a week, but we manage to get together once or twice a month. Both of us want to spend as much time as possible with our wives, so our get-togethers almost always center around family.

With an extreme sense of satisfaction, I shoot off a text to Raj, asking about his family's plans for the annual Fourth of July boat parade.

Never say never. And always believe in miracles.

I made a friend. And I did it all by myself.

 **XXXXXXX**

 **Thanks so much for your kind reviews.**


	7. G is for Grace

**Thank you, ramanreinee and nikkistew2, for pre-reading!**

 **G is for Grace**

 **Saturday, December 3, 2016**

 **Grace**

As I survey the family room, my heart swells in gratitude at my bounty. It's my favorite season of the year and this is my favorite event. Each Christmas for the past twenty-seven years, on the first Saturday in December, Carrick and I have hosted an Open House for close friends and family.

"The house looks divine," my dear friend, Janine, tells me. She's the one who once tried to warn me that something was off about Elena. When she tells me something now, I heed every word.

"Thank you. Have you seen Christian? I want to thank him for the two cases of Bollinger that were delivered this morning."

"I haven't seen him, but Lance and I just arrived. I did see Ana, so Christian shouldn't be far away."

"Yes," I laugh. "He is famously protective."

"The way he looks at Ana…oh, my." Janine says, as she fans herself, provoking me to laugh.

"Well, let me go on a search. I'll catch up with you later."

As I pass the foyer, I hear the patter of footsteps.

"GiGi," Ted calls. He has Ava in tow. They both look so cute in their dressy holiday clothes.

Reynolds follows at a discreet distance. Christian and his team leave nothing to chance. There's no way these precious children will be allowed to roam the house during a party without protection.

"Hello, my darlings," I squat down for a double hug. "Why aren't you with your parents?"

"We had a job to do," Ted explains. "Uncle Ethan's girlfriend is mad cuz she can't find him, so Ava and I went to tell him."

"She's mean, and my dress is better than hers." Ava twirls in her red taffeta and tulle.

"You look beautiful, Ava. Did you find Ethan?" I inquire.

"Yes, ma'am," Ted nods. "He's in Auntie Mia's room."

"And where's Mia?"

"In the room with him," Ted tells me. "The door's locked. We knocked and knocked, but they wouldn't let us in. Daddy says only mommies and daddies get to lock their doors, so Uncle Ethan and Auntie Mia are breaking the rule."

I'll say. What's going on with those two? They have the strangest relationship.

"Uncle Ethan said go away," Ava adds.

This doesn't sound good at all, but I can't concern myself. I have party guests.

"The big tree is nice, but I like the little trees best, 'specially your kitchen tree." Ted tells me. "We didn't bring any presents today. Daddy says we'll bring you presents Christmas Day."

"I want Tenney with guitar," Ava says, in reference to a doll she wants. "Where's Tenney?"

"You aren't supposed to ask," Ted tells her. "It's not polite."

Ted's a very proper, serious little man.

"Where are Ray and Maggie?"

"Ray is in time out with Grandpa and Mommy has Maggie." Ted leans against me, and whispers in my ear. "Mags pooped herself real bad, so Mommy took her to Daddy's old room."

My four grandchildren are the best entertainment. They bring me such joy.

Christian has given me three. Ted, at four, is very grown up and poised. Ray is two, and always busy. Baby Margaret Rose is six months. Just like he does with his business acquisitions, Christian is already planning the next one. He had an app pulled up on his phone a couple of months ago, and that's when I learned he tracks Ana's menstrual cycle.

Elliot's little Ava is nearly three. Much like her father, she's a handful. It's no secret Kate and Elliot are working on another baby.

"Do you know where your fathers are?" I ask my two tiny companions.

"Uh-huh," they say in unison.

Hand in hand, they lead me to the living room. The room is grand in scale, perfect for entertaining, and one of the primary reasons we selected this house.

The children lead me to my sons, who are standing at one of the tall windows overlooking the backyard.

I put a finger to my lips, showing the children my intention to sneak up on their fathers. They join in, and we tiptoe together slowly. Ava has one hand over her mouth to hold back giggles.

"I'm just saying," Christian tells Elliot, "it must be fun doing all that trying."

"It is at first, but then it's frustrating. Dude, all you have to do is throw your underwear at Banana, and she's knocked up."

"I have been lucky. Each time it's happened on the first go."

"Any hints? Special tricks? I thought I knew it all, but maybe not."

"Jesus, El, that's way too personal."

"And I know you don't want to discuss it in front of your mother or your children." I startle my sons.

"Jeez, Mother, we need to put a bell on you," Christian says.

"Did you two do what I told you?" Elliot asks Ted and Ava.

"Yes, sir," Ted answers. "But the door was locked and Uncle Ethan said go away."

"Ooh, nice attempt at a block," Christian high fives Elliot.

"I'm tired," Ava says. "Lap."

How can I say no to that?

"Of course, sweetie. Ted, can you smell the cookies? I think Gretchen has a fresh batch. Will you fix a small plate with cookies, please?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answers with a grin, and skips away.

Carrick debates the new excise tax with one of his law partners, while Ray has an arm crooked around Cary's knee. This is Carrick's way of putting Ray in time out. I catch Ray's eye and give him a wink. I crook my finger, and invite him to sit with us. Ray tugs on the hem of Carrick's jacket and points at me. Carrick nods his head and says something to Ray, who runs to me.

Ray reaches me, just as Ted returns with the cookies. Ted holds out the plate, and Ray snatches up two cookies.

"No! That's greedy," Ted admonishes. "You're supposed to be in time out for pulling on the lights."

Ray gives Ted an angry look and stomps on Ted's foot.

"Hey, now," Christian says, stepping over to intervene. "You two knock it off. One cookie, Ray."

Christian holds out his hand, and Ray gives him one of the cookies.

"Little dude, we need to talk," Elliot tells Ted. "You're turning into a first-class narc."

"What's a narc?" Ted asks wide-eyed.

"Don't worry about it, son." Christian rolls his eyes at Elliot.

Elliot gives Christian his middle finger.

"Elliot Trevelyan Grey. Stop doing that in front of my grandchildren."

"C'mon, Tedster, you need to learn from the best. I'll teach you how to be an awesome big brother."

Ted puts his hands in his pockets, and follows his Uncle Elliot.

"Where are they off to?" Kate approaches with her mother.

"Since El is a self-designated Master of Sibling Arts, he's decided to mentor his elder nephew," Christian answers.

"Good luck with that," Kate laughs.

Ava reaches for her Mama K, and I immediately feel the loss. Dana Kavanagh and I have become quite close. Like me, Dana relishes the role of grandmother, and with Ana's mother out of the picture, she has assumed the role of grandmother to Ana and Christian's children as well. Fortunately, Dana and I share well, and there are no rivalries.

I excuse myself to mingle with my guests. As I chat with my neighbor, Patsy, I notice Christian bent down in front of Ray, speaking softly to him. Ana is a few feet away, cuddling a sleepy Maggie.

"Mommy told you to move away from the tree, but you didn't. Now GiGi has a broken ornament, and Mommy is sad, because you didn't listen to her." Christian is a patient, loving father. He and Ana are exemplary parents. I don't give a hoot about a Christmas ornament, but this is an important learning opportunity for Ray.

Ray stretches up on tiptoe and kisses Ana's cheek.

"I saw-wee," he says sweetly.

"I know," Ana answers. "But you must do what we say. After the party you will apologize to GiGi and Grandpa for breaking their ornament."

I feel sad for Ray, because Ava and Ted sometimes exclude him. There are other children here at the party, but they are school age, and not appropriate playmates for Ray.

"Otay," Ray answers. "Daddy, pway wif me."

"I can't play right now, but how about you ride on my shoulders while I walk around and talk to some of the people here?"

"Otay," Ray says, satisfied.

Ana and Christian exchange a sweet look of love. I call it 'The Gaze,' and it passes between them dozens of times a day.

They aren't even aware of it. Every few minutes they search for one another, checking in, letting the other know they're near. It's been this way since the first day they met. Elliot and Kate call it something less savory.

In reference to 'The Gaze,' Dana said it best. "It's as if they never stop making love. Ana and Christian don't even have to touch each other, and I feel like an intruder."

I watch Ana as her eyes follow Christian and Ray. She's every bit as besotted as she was five and a half years ago.

"May I take my granddaughter?" I ask, as I take the club chair closest to Ana.

"Of course." Ana hands off a sleeping Maggie. "It's a lovely party, Grace. I always enjoy your Holiday Open House. Everyone coming and going. It's a relaxing kick-off to the Christmas season."

"It's my favorite event. You and Kate coming into our lives has made it special. Thank you for loving Christian and giving him a family."

"Look at him, Grace. Sometimes I still can't believe I get to go home with him."

"He's said the same of you. You two are the perfect fit for each other."

Ted approaches and leans against Ana's chair.

"I'm sorry," he says to me. "I spilled punch. One of Gretchen's helpers cleaned it up."

"It's okay, darling," I reassure him.

"Let's go find, Daddy," Ana says.

As I survey the room, Cary's eyes find mine. He gives me a big smile, then points. Ah, it seems Kate and Elliot have found the mistletoe.

Mia has her head thrown back in laughter as she talks to Christian, Ana, Raj, and Bandi. Ethan and a very unhappy looking brunette chat with the Flynns.

I sit back, holding one of my four perfect grandchildren, watching my three perfect children enjoy themselves.

I send up a little prayer of gratitude, with the hope that the love in this room never stops.

Life is better than ever.

 **XXXXXXX**

 **I hope you enjoyed this snapshot of life with the Greys.**

 **Your reviews are my payday. Thank you so much for your feedback.**

 **Only twenty more days until the US premiere of Freed!**


	8. H is for Halloween

**Gentle Reader,**

 **Part of today's post contains priest/nun role play between Christian and Ana. I understand some readers may be offended by the religious aspect of this. If you think the scenario might upset you, please do not proceed.**

 **This entry has two related parts. The first scene is conversation between Kate and Christian I decided not to include in "B is for Brother." The second scene is Ana's POV of Christian's first Halloween party.**

 **Laters! P.**

 **XXXXXXX**

 **H is for Halloween**

 **Tuesday, October 4, 2011**

 **Christian**

As we finish up our meal at the Mile High, Katherine is completely relaxed and full of chatter.

"Brother?" She teases me with her new title for me.

"Yes," I reply. "I'll answer to that, but don't wear it out."

"Have you heard about the Halloween party Elliot and I are throwing? The invitations go out tomorrow."

"I've never been to a Halloween party," I admit.

Katherine is wide-eyed with shock.

"Never?"

"No. I only went trick or treat a few times. It wasn't my thing."

"Well, you need to reconsider your aversion to Halloween, because our girl loves it."

"She does?"

I imagine Anastasia as a little girl, sheet over her head, flashlight in one hand, and sack in the other. Adorable.

"Yep. She always makes her own costumes. She was Spongebob last year, and still has the costume. Maybe you can be Patrick or Squidward."

"I'll ask Anastasia about it."

A Spongebob costume doesn't sound very flattering, but I'm sure Ana wore it well. I'm grateful my woman is modest and doesn't feel the need to dress provocatively for anyone but me.

Katherine tells me all about the guest list and the decorations. Since neither she nor my brother can cook, they've hired a caterer.

"What are you and El wearing?" I ask.

"We'll be Sandy and Danny from _Grease_."

As I listen to Katherine's plans, I decide October 31st might be an underrated holiday. My wife has developed an interest in sexual cosplay, so Halloween has opportunity written all over it.

I consider some of Ana's costumes. I think Schoolgirl Steele is my favorite, though she seems to favor Naughty Nurse Ana. She says the nurse costume makes her want to play with my ass. I've recently become the proud owner of my very own rectal thermometer, a gift from my wife.

Nurse Ana is devoted to monitoring my health. After ascertaining no presence of fever, she gloves up and gives my prostate a thorough digital exam. Nurse Ana is very gentle and always gives my prostate a stimulating manual massage. She can clean out my pipes in less than two minutes, leaving me feeling in the peak of good health and well-being.

Whatever makes my baby happy. I decide my wife and I should have two Halloween parties, one at Elliot's and one in our bedroom when we get home from the party.

"Christian?" Damn. There goes Katherine pulling me out of my thoughts again. "I lost you there for a minute. Please say you and Ana will come to the party."

"We wouldn't miss it for the world."

 **Saturday, October 29, 2011**

 **Anastasia**

I didn't want to recycle any old Halloween costumes with Christian. I wanted something new to both of us, so Sponge Bob and Squidward were out.

Since I'm beginning to show and the weather has turned chilly, Christian and I decided to dress as a priest and a nun. The habits are loose, comfortable, and warm. In addition, we thought it would be funny. You know, the priest knocking up the nun, all that forbidden love. Apparently Christian and I are the only ones who fully appreciate the joke, because Gail, Taylor, and Sawyer have been exchanging puzzled looks.

Now that we're in the car on the way to Kate and Elliot's party, I'm reconsidering our choices. We're both very respectful of all religions, so I hope no one is offended by our garb.

I hope people understand the joke. Maybe the costumes would be funnier, if I were showing more. Perhaps I should have padded my baby bump to exaggerate the effect.

Goodness, this wimple is tight. Turning my neck has become an awkward, difficult move. My scalp feels itchy and sweaty.

"Are you okay?" Christian asks. "You keep sticking a finger up under the edge of your wimple."

"It's uncomfortable. I'll probably have this headgear off within an hour. But maybe I shouldn't, because my hair will be an awful mess. This wasn't one of our better ideas."

"Oh, I don't know, Sister Anastasia. You and I have been chaste all our lives, and we've taken vows of celibacy. There's an unbearable sexual tension between the two of us. And neither of us is wearing a stitch under these vestments."

"How do you do that? Your words…they make me so damned needy."

"Needy? Well, Sister Anastasia, there's a cure for that." Christian pulls up the hem of my habit and runs his hand up my leg.

"Father Grey, God and his angels are watching," I nod toward Taylor. "We shouldn't be doing this."

"Thank you for reminding me of our divine responsibilities, Sister. I'll meet you behind the confessional later to determine penance for our wayward thoughts. You can listen to an account of my sins while my dick is down your throat."

I laugh, but then wonder which of his deeds Christian would list as sins, if ever there were a reckoning.

As Taylor pulls into Elliot's long driveway, I'm excited to see how he and Kate have decorated the new place. Soon we'll only be living five minutes apart, and since we're all on Lake Washington, we can boat to each other's homes.

"Elliot's house looks beautiful," I say. "This is the first time we've seen it at night, all lit up."

"I guess this Halloween shindig is sort of a housewarming. I'm glad El was able to find something move-in ready. Just two more weeks, baby, and we'll be in our new home."

At the front door we're greeted by Ethan and his friend, Mutt.

Ethan shakes Christian's hand, then picks me up and twirls me around.

"You're getting so heavy," he teases.

"Ana, I haven't seen you since you flashed that wedding ring at us," Mutt says. "Just so you know, I love married women and they love me."

"Everyone's heard. You're a legend in your own mind," Ethan tells him.

Christian pulls me close.

"Grey, stop with the murderous looks," Mutt tells Christian. "I'm on your side. If anyone messes with Ana, I'll help you take them down. Anyone for a drink? I make a mean Moscow Mule."

Does he not know I'm pregnant? I thought my baby bump was showing.

"No thanks," I tell Mutt. "Where are El and Bug?"

"On the terrace," Ethan tells us. Hand in hand, Christian and I follow the sound of music. We find a small group enjoying karaoke in the family room.

"Will you sing for me?" I ask.

"Later," Christian kisses my forehead. "But first I must think of the perfect song."

Tall French doors lead us onto the terrace. Most of the party guests don't look familiar to me. Not that I should know all of Elliot's friends. It seems like I've known the Greys forever, but it's been less than six months since we all met. We're all still getting to know each other.

"Ana!" Kate squeals when she sees me. We miss seeing each other every day.

"Bro, what's with the priest get up? Banana's a nun?" Elliot looks Christian up and down, then me, then Christian again.

"El, don't give me any shit. This costume was a compromise. I actually wanted to be you for Halloween, but I couldn't fit seven dicks in my mouth."

Everyone laughs at Christian's joke, and Elliot laughs loudest.

"Damn, Chrissy, I'm so fucking glad to see you," Elliot says. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

"We wouldn't miss it," Christian answers. Elliot pulls the two of us into a three-way hug. "Halloween has become my new favorite holiday."

"You two arrived just in time for the apple bobbing competition," Kate says. She pulls me toward a large galvanized tub, which sits atop a table. A brown-haired girl in blue chiffon has her hands tied behind her back and her face down in the water.

"I'm crap at it, but I love trying," I tell Christian.

"No. Absolutely not," My husband's eyes are wide with horror at the sight of the floating apples. He grabs my hand and pulls me away from the group.

"What's wrong?" I ask. My husband constantly surprises me.

"I forbid you. You are not dipping your face into that cesspool."

He forbids me! Oh, hell to the no.

"That sounds like a challenge, Mr. Grey. I'm feeling a strong urge for some serious bobbing action."

"I've got something for you to bob. And it's not those damn apples."

"If you want some personal bobbing, you need to loosen up, and let me have my Halloween fun."

"No. That's final." Christian wags a finger in my face.

What could possibly be going through that usually brilliant mind of his?

"We've talked about this. I don't respond well to orders. Explain your feelings and ask me nicely."

Christian strokes my cheek.

"Please don't do it," he begs. "Please."

The corners of his mouth turn down. The corners of his eyes crinkle in worry. Oh, no. I'm a goner.

"But why?"

"Shit, baby. Apple bobbing is a nasty proposition. That water is a toxic soup, teeming with bacteria. The apples are nasty round petri dishes. People put their mouths on the fruit, and every hit or miss adds more germs to their surfaces. They cough and drool into the water."

Right now there is much I could say to my husband, the man who before he met me, stuck his fingers, face, and dick in all kinds of foul, foreign places. For the sake of peace, I hold my tongue.

"I've been doing this sort of thing all my life, and I'm fine."

"Think of the baby," he says, pouting for all he's worth. "And think of me. I can't bear the idea of you sick."

I do have a responsibility to care for our unborn child, so maybe his request isn't unreasonable. And I am touched by his concern for my health.

"Fine. You win. No to the apple bobbing." I push up on my tiptoes and kiss his soft lips. "Yes to the private bobbing."

"I've just thought of a song for you. Let's go back inside," he tells me.

We sit back and listen as a female trio sings _'Teenage Dream.'_

"You've given me a teenage dream. Did you know that?"

I snuggle in closer and give my man a kiss. He's told me over and over again how special it was in Montana, how he felt as if I'd returned something which had been stolen.

It's Christian's turn to sing. As the music begins, I recognize the song immediately.

"You're just too good to be true

I can't take my eyes off you

You'd be like heaven to touch

I wanna hold you so much"

My husband can drench my panties just by singing the grocery list. But when he sings love songs, I lose all good sense.

"Thank you," I tell him. "You always make everything special."

"You make me so fucking happy," he whispers. "Let's go home."

"I do want to leave, but we owe it to Bug and Elliot to stick around a bit longer."

Christian sets the timer on his phone.

"An hour, Sister Anastasia. And then I'm taking you behind our imaginary confessional."

 **XXXXXXX**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing!**


	9. I is for Intimate

**I is for Intimate**

 **Monday, January 22, 2018**

 **Christian**

"Good afternoon, Mr. Grey. I've pulled the intimate apparel you requested. Let me show you to your dressing room. Champagne?"

Caroline Acton greets me with a warm smile. She better be warm. With the commissions she's earned from me over the years, her retirement will surely be a comfortable one.

"Save the champagne for my wife's arrival. Her presence is always something to celebrate." I follow Ms. Acton to a spacious dressing room and take a seat on the sofa. "I'll look through everything, while I wait for her."

"Of course, sir."

There's a large round table in the corner. It's laid out with lingerie in varying hues of red. Red gowns, robes, and teddies hang on a clothes rack.

Red.

It's a color which at one time carried a different meaning. It was a safeword, the color of my playroom, a symbol of Dominance.

Now the color signifies warmth, romance, love, and comfort. Anastasia.

There's a red camisole with matching silk shorts. I think Ana calls them tap pants. Her pert little ass would look great in those.

My phone buzzes, but it's Barney, and he can wait.

I see a short red gown trimmed in marabou. I don't care for it. It's too fussy for my elegant wife, and it's sheer, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Some men may want to see absolutely everything up front, but I prefer Anastasia in lingerie that covers up all her special bits, highlighting and hinting at what's underneath. I enjoy the slow reveal of all her luscious parts, as I undress her. A good game of visual peek-a-boo is always a treat.

My phone goes off again. It's Elliot. I better take it. Grandmother is hospitalized with pneumonia, and El might have news.

"What's up? How's Grandmother?" I answer.

"Well, hello to you, too. She was released this morning. She's back home with Gramps. I'm calling because I'm near your office. You had lunch yet?"

"I'm at Neiman's waiting for Ana. We'll shop a bit and then have a late lunch."

"Shopping at Neiman's on a Monday? What the fuck for?"

Cue Elliot's obnoxious laugh.

"Lingerie."

And there it is again. More of Elliot's boisterous laugh.

"You are so whipped. Thank God my wife can shop for her own underwear. How did you get talked into that?"

"I overheard Ana and Kate talking last week. Ana said she wanted new lingerie. Red lingerie to be specific. Red 'whore's drawers' is what she said. So I volunteered my services."

"Jesus, bro. You and Banana are so fucking kinky sometimes. You know husbands don't go with their wives to try on underwear. Knowing you two, you'll fuck in the dressing room. You've probably done that already. Am I right?"

Of course we've fucked in dressing rooms. Seattle, New York, Sao Paulo, Paris, Mumbai, just to name a few locales.

"Maybe. Listen, I've gotta go. Ana will be here any minute. Aspen this weekend. You guys meet us at SEATAC on Friday at six. Is Aggie ready to strap on her first pair of skis?"

"She's stoked, but I think she's expecting actual rabbits on the bunny slope. Friday, bro. Laters."

"Laters."

I look back at the lingerie. Intimate apparel.

Intimate.

I've enjoyed five and a half years of intimacy with Anastasia.

I fucked Elena and a long line of subs, but I've only been intimate with Anastasia. She's the only woman with whom I've shared my hopes, fears, feelings.

Anastasia is jealous of the women I've fucked, but she has no reason to be. They were nothing to me.

Ana is everything.

My raison d'être.

But my beautiful wife, who has only been physically intimate with me, has shared her feelings with other men. Before she met me, she freely expressed her inner thoughts to Rodriguez, Kavanagh, and Goldsmith. She talked to them about anything and everything. That's why I'll always be jealous of them. Thank God she never fucked them, or I'd be out of my mind every time she left the house.

There's a little knock on the door.

"Yes?" I say to whomever is on the other side.

The door opens to reveal my beautiful wife, who wears a broad smile.

"Hello, handsome. I just wanted to make sure I had the correct room."

We kiss, and instead of our usual quick hello peck, I pull her close and kiss her deeply.

"That was lovely," she says. "But what's that about? Something is on your mind."

"I love you. That's all."

"Oh, no, Mr. Grey. Something is definitely on your mind."

"Just thinking what a jealous fucker I am. And how much I love you. You're mine."

"Yes, yours. I like it when you take ownership of me. I hope you'll always be possessive, even when we're in the nursing home. But I don't ever want you to feel insecure."

Ana strokes my scalp and neck, gently raking her nails across my skin. That shit always feels so good.

"Baby, I do feel secure. Most of the time." I play with a lock of her chestnut hair. She's so perfect. "While I was waiting for you, I started thinking. We share everything, don't we? I guess I'm wondering if we're intimate."

"We do share. We talk about everything. Eventually. Sometimes we take a terribly long time to get everything out. But we're intimate in every single way. Some people think we're too intimate, enmeshed in an unhealthy way."

What the hell.

"Who says that?"

"Don't get upset, but Mia and Kate have each said as much. Elliot, too, as well as my dad. I think they might be a tad envious of what we share."

"As long as we're happy, that's what counts. Right? Baby, we're not unhealthy, are we?"

"Nah. I'm proud of us. You, me, and our sweet, perfect little family of five. Hey, I thought you were going to help me choose some lingerie."

"Sure. I think Ms. Acton pulled every red item in the lingerie department. Why red? You never told me."

"Well, red has always been one of your favorite colors, and I don't have very many red things. Also it's close to Valentine's Day, so this is the best time of the year to shop for red lingerie."

"I sifted through some of this while I was waiting." I hold up a pair I hope she'll choose. "You have the best ass on the planet, and you know my favorite panties are these. Cheekies. Isn't that what you call them?"

Panties with the band across the top and her ass hanging out are the best. Thongs are fine, but that band of lace is the icing on Ana's very edible cake.

"Well, how can a girl possibly refuse her man when he gives such wonderful compliments? This bustier matches the panties, so I definitely need to try that. What do you think of this teddy and the short robe? They're sexy, but not something I'd be embarrassed for the kids to see."

I stand behind my wife, looking over her shoulder. She moves against me, pressing her ass into me. It's a slow grind, and I know where this is headed. I see another dressing room fuck in our very near future.

"Nice, baby. I like." I push back against my wife, and reach up under her black wool skirt. "What about that long gown with the lace panels? It has a matching robe."

"Whatever you want, Mr. Grey." Anastasia's voice is breathy and high.

"Jesus, baby, I need you. Now."

Ana checks to make sure the door is locked.

"We don't need Ms. Acton busting in and getting an eye full. She'd ban us from the store."

"Doubtful, baby, with the amount of money we've spent in this store. But nobody sees what's mine."

She unbuckles and unzips me, never taking her eyes from mine. Her moves are smooth and graceful, borne of much practice. One hand is on my ass while the other pumps me. She bends at the knees, lowering herself for fellatio, but that's not what I want right now.

"No." In one sweep of my arm, I clear the table of lingerie. "Skirt off."

Anastasia unfastens a button and zipper on one side, then turns her back to me and shimmies out of the skirt. I gasp at the sight of her. She is bare, left with only black thigh highs and suede boots.

"I planned ahead, Mr. Grey."

"You worked all morning at the station without panties. Mrs. Grey, I should spank your ass for that."

"I took them off a few minutes ago, here in the first floor ladies' room. But feel free to spank me."

I give her a quick swat on the rear, leaving one cheek slightly pink. Her occasional acts of defiance are just enough to give me the thrill of the unexpected. Anastasia knows my limits, and never goes too far over the line.

I lift her onto the table. She sits up tall, legs apart, eyes wide with lusty expectation. I stand between her thighs, and remove her sweater and bra, while she pumps my dick and runs it through her wet folds.

"Baby, please tell me you planned ahead and brought a condom." I should have thought ahead myself. I want to unload inside her, but fucking her tits is nice, too.

"We don't need one," she says.

"I double-checked my phone this morning. This is the fifteenth day of your cycle, so you're in that fertile window." How can she be so unaware of her own bodily functions? This is why I track her menstrual cycle with an app.

"We don't need a condom," she insists. "I want you bare. Give me what you've got."

Is she saying what I think she's saying?

"What are you telling me? Are you ready for number four?"

"Yessss." She pushes the word out in a sibilant rush of air, as she loosens my tie.

"Oh, baby, that makes me so happy. But do you really want to conceive a child here in this store?"

"Why not? We can name him Neiman or Marcus. Or if it's a girl, we can name her Caroline, after our favorite personal shopper."

"Always so unexpected, Mrs. Grey. I love you."

"And I love you, Mr. Grey," she replies, kissing my neck. "Take off those pants. Let's get intimate."

 **XXXXXXX**


	10. J is for Jar

**J is for Jar**

 **Thursday, November 3, 2011**

 **Christian**

When Ana and I planned our reception at the Mile High, I was so thrilled at the prospect of announcing our marriage, I didn't give much thought to the details of the reception.

Anastasia, on the other hand, wanted personal mementos from the occasion. So in addition to a photographer and videographer, she thought of another way to remember the occasion, and I'm so pleased she did.

At Ana's direction, a small blank card and envelope were tucked behind each guest's place card. In lieu of gifts, we requested guests use the card to offer anonymous tips for marital harmony.

While the advice was anonymous, I did recognize the handwriting on some of the cards, and most of the advice was directed at me. Our guests determined Anastasia needed no advice, but I required a shit-ton.

 **Elliot: Master the art of eating pussy, bro. That's the secret to keeping a woman happy.**

Because Elena demanded constant cunnilingus, the act became a turn-off for me, and as a consequence, I never pleasured my subs in that way. But with Ana, I can't go down on her enough. Her taste and fragrance fuel my arousal. Lell doesn't need to tell me to eat Ana's pussy, because I have no intention of ever stopping.

When I saw a card with my divorced CPO's handwriting, I paid special attention.

I certainly don't want to end up in his situation.

 **Taylor: Don't fart or use the shitter in front of your wife. In the beginning she won't mind so much, but eventually it becomes a deal breaker.**

I've never known the cause of Taylor's divorce, but apparently his lack of sphincter control is the reason little Sophie gets bounced between her parents. Ana may well get tired of me, but it won't be due to lack of control over my bodily functions. For damn sure, those his-and-her toilet stalls in the new house will be sound-proof and have adequate ventilation.

In my father's familiar handwriting, I found the well-worn admonition to never go to bed angry. My mother suggested "I love you" be the last things we say each night. In fact, most of the advice we received centered on bedtime rituals.

 **Flynn: No TV in your bedroom, and set strict boundaries for technology.**

 **Ros: Begin and end each day with a kiss.**

 **Grandmother: Only positive talk in bed. Pillow talk should always be sweet.**

 **Grandfather: Always go to bed together at the same time each night. This seems like a small thing, but it pays large dividends.**

All this bedtime advice has been most helpful to the two of us and we've embraced it. Since marrying Anastasia, my life has changed in many ways, both large and small. But if I had to choose one single change, the one with the most impact has been our shared bedtime routine.

All my life I've fought sleep. Instead of equating sleep with restoration, I'd associated it with nightmares. As a child, I hid under my quilt, book in hand, with a little reading lamp clamped to the cover. I stayed awake until I could no longer fight sleep.

When I reached adulthood, the book was replaced by a laptop or tablet. Eventually exhaustion would overtake me and I would drift off. The nightmares would time their arrival four or five hours in. I would awaken, unable to sleep, and I'd play my piano until it was time for my morning run with Taylor. I never knew the refreshment of a good night's sleep until I met Ana.

These days, Anastasia and I are usually in bed by nine. We don't turn off the lights until well after ten. In that last magical hour of our day, we read, we talk, we fuck. Not necessarily in that order, but a comforting pattern has developed.

Everything we've heard says our sexual connection won't last, and while I disagree with that assessment, for now we can't get enough of one another. We have sex every single day. Most often it's twice a day, and three times daily on weekends. Some couples say good night with a kiss, and we do that, too. But we've added a required good night fuck to the ritual, and most days there's also a good morning fuck.

All this sex is new territory for the two of us. Ana never had sex before me, and truthfully, I rarely had intercourse with any of my submissives.

On weekends with my submissives, it was lots of blow jobs or jerking off in their faces, along with at least one round of anal. Orgasm denial was a favorite punishment. I'm sure Ana imagines a very different picture of what went on within the walls of my apartment, but there was barely an illusion of intimacy, and the only ones who showed any vulnerability were the subs.

Besides Elena, there were only a half dozen or so subs with whom I ever shared vaginal penetration. I usually selected subs with a high pain threshold, those who liked the whip more than the dick. Vaginal intercourse was rare, used only as a reward for meeting contract milestones, and when it did occur, I entered from behind.

There was no face-to-face interaction with subs, nothing that might resemble love-making, because that might send the wrong idea. Many got the wrong idea anyway.

Of course, everything is different with Ana. She's more than a physical release. Every sexual encounter is a strengthening of our bond.

We're both proud of our special connection, and we do everything we can to enhance it. I suppose that's why we were both so enthused when we opened the envelope containing a very intriguing bit of advice.

 **Put a dollar in a jar each time you have sex. Earmark the money for a special "sex" savings account. On your twentieth anniversary, put the money toward something you can share.**

The idea captivated both of us.

The ritualism of the jar was a romantic lure for Anastasia.

"It's a marital collection plate, a way to affirm and invest in our love," she said.

At heart I'm nothing more than an ambitious bean counter, so being able to attach a concrete monetary value to our sex life appealed to me.

Anastasia found a half-gallon Mason jar in an antique shop. I sent Olivia to the bank for several stacks of ones. We've packed the jar more than once already, and we have over three hundred dollars in our special fund. The account and what it represents are priceless to me.

XXXXXXX

My wife gives me a foamy toothpaste grin as she dances in front of her bathroom sink. The way she moves her toothbrush is reminiscent of the way she sucked my dick just minutes earlier. As I scrub my lower molars, I eye her in wonder.

How did I ever get so fucking lucky?

Our spit and rinse is perfectly in sync, just like the two of us.

Ana takes off running and I chase her. She lets me catch her. I toss her on the bed and pepper her neck with kisses.

"It's your turn tonight," she says reaching inside the nightstand drawer.

She hands me a crisp new dollar bill. I roll it tightly and drop it into the jar, sending up a thank you to whichever deity made this life possible.

 **XXXXXXX**


	11. K is for Krispy Kreme

**K is for Krispy Kreme**

 **Thursday, December 8, 2011**

 **Christian**

"Hey, big guy."

Bastille's greeting is laced with humor, but it's completely at my expense. He can't stop chiding me over my recent weight gain of four pounds.

Anastasia extolls my physical attributes and reassures me of her unending attraction. My clothes still fit well enough, but I'm a numbers guy, and numbers don't lie. Not only have I gained weight, but my BMI has climbed from 16.2 to 16.9.

To remedy the situation, I'm doubling down on the workouts. Bastille is here to put me through my paces.

"I've known you for five years, Grey, and your weight has remained constant. Is this one of those sympathetic pregnancy things?"

"What's that?"

"Didn't anyone tell you? It's when the expectant dad gains weight along with the mom."

Shit. I had no idea.

"Anastasia's appetite is through the roof." There's more to it, but I'm not sharing that with Bastille. He doesn't need to know the extent of her increased appetites, and how she makes a happy meal of my dick every chance she gets. "She's been eating larger portions and I've been indulging alongside her."

"Cut back on that shit. It's not good for either one of you."

"She's been eating a very healthy diet. But even too much of a good thing can be unhealthy, I suppose."

"How are the pregnancy yoga classes going for Ana?"

"She seems to enjoy them…she looks fantastic." Anastasia is round, ripe, and firm, perfect for the picking.

I love her big belly, and what it represents.

She's mine.

"Snap out of it, gordito. We've got work to do. Gimme your best plank. Two minutes," Bastille orders.

As I assume the proper posture, my mind is on other more appealing positions.

XXXXXXX

It's half past six when I receive her text.

 **Your needy wife misses you. XOXOXOX**

Oh, baby, I miss you, too.

 **At your service. Leaving soon.**

"Is Ana okay?" Ros asks, knowing exactly who I'm texting.

"More than okay. We can pick this up tomorrow, Ros. We have spouses to tend."

"I like this new side of you, Grey."

"Don't get too comfortable," I tease her. "This may just be a newlywed phase."

"Somehow I don't think so." Ros chucks me gently under the chin with her fist. "Have a great evening, Hoss."

Shit, even Ros knows I'm packing on the pounds.

I scoop up the black box tied with white satin ribbon. Inside are a dozen long-stemmed blush roses. I hope my wife likes them.

XXXXXXX

"She's in the bedroom, Mr. Grey," Gail says. "Dinner will be ready in a half hour. Shall I put the flowers in water?"

"Not yet. I want to surprise Ana with them."

I approach our room in stealth mode, because sometimes Anastasia takes catnaps before dinner. The door is ajar, which is out of the ordinary. We always keep the door to our room closed, whether we're in it or not.

I stop in my tracks when I'm hit with my wife's soft, low moans. These are my sounds. They belong only to me.

A black fury bubbles in my blood. Anastasia knows masturbation is off the table. All her orgasms belong to me.

I kick the door open. She startles, wide-eyed, wearing the guiltiest of expressions. A crinkly food wrapper flutters off the bed.

"What the fuck!" She's not cheating on me with a vibrator. She's cheating on me with a goddamn donut. "Answer me. What the hell are you doing?"

As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I know I've done something wrong.

Anastasia's hackles rise at my accusatory tone.

"What does it look like?" She scowls, then licks something sticky off the pad of her middle finger. Her right hand holds a glazed donut. Thank fuck there's only one bite missing. I've arrived in time to rescue her from eating the whole thing.

"It looks like you're sneaking around behind my back with a donut. That's what it looks like. I thought we discussed this. It was settled."

Damn that Bob. Not only did he expose Ana to that golf pro last summer, but he also introduced her to Krispy Kreme.

Last week Ana suddenly developed a donut craving, specifically for the Krispy Kreme original glazed version. The damn things carry two hundred empty calories and cause insulin levels to spike, neither of which is good for either Anastasia or the baby.

"In your mind it was settled," Anastasia sniffles. "You don't even try to understand. It hurt my feelings when I asked you to take me to Krispy Kreme and you refused. You're completely unreasonable."

Anastasia tosses the partially eaten donut into its bag, wads it up, then throws the entire thing at me, hitting me in the chest. She pummels her pillow, collapses into a heap, and weeps.

Her hormones are going to be the death of me.

"Baby…I brought you flowers. I'm sorry. Please forgive me, baby. I'm just trying to take care of you."

My beautiful girl whimpers and sobs. She crosses way into ugly cry territory, but she still looks beautiful to me.

"You're…treating…me…like…one of…those girls," she hiccups.

What! I never want Anastasia to feel like a submissive.

"No, baby, no. I've never thought of you that way. Please don't cry. It hurts so much to see you sad."

I rub her back while she sobs and sniffles. I dig my handkerchief out of my pocket.

"Blow." I tell her, holding the handkerchief to her nose.

She complies, producing a weak honk. I use the corners of the cloth to dab her eyes and cheeks.

She's on her side, facing away from me, eyes closed. I lie down next to her, slipping an arm under her so I can touch our baby bump, while I rub her back with the other.

After a few minutes she rolls over to face me.

"I'm so mad at you," she says. Her lips are pursed in defiance.

"I can see that. I'm sorry." I do hope she knows how sorry I am. I hate seeing her like this.

"Tell me what you're sorry for. Show me you understand how I feel."

This isn't about a donut. It's about so much more.

Use your words, Grey, and tell her.

"I'm sorry for not understanding. As for how you feel, I guess you feel disrespected," I stroke her shiny hair. "You're mine. I take care of what's mine. But I can't take care of you, if you disregard your own safety."

The crack whore was mine. I tried to take care of her, but she wouldn't do her part.

"Do you think you're married to an idiot? I'm very safety conscious. I haven't had sweets since our wedding reception. Then you tell me I can't indulge my craving for one measly donut. You insult me as a mother when you imply I don't provide proper nutrition for our unborn child. You're damn right, I feel disrespected. I'm not a sub. You can't tell me what to eat."

"I'm sorry, baby. Truly." And I am.

"You say you want to give me the world, but you won't allow me a donut. I hope you're happy, because you ruined the experience for me."

She rises from the bed and squats down for the paper bag, now imprinted with gooey stains.

"I'm sure Gail has dinner ready by now. I'll meet you in the kitchen in a few minutes. Can you please throw this away for me?" She hands me the bag and disappears into the bathroom.

Out of curiosity, I open the bag and examine the now squashed pastry. I take a bite, and feel ashamed for having deprived Ana of this small pleasure. The donut is a perfect blend of fat and sugar, and I quickly devour the remains.

A few minute later, Anastasia joins me at the kitchen island.

Gail's chicken chasseur is delicious, but neither of us eats much. We push our food around in silence. I feel like an ass. I've made my wife so miserable, she's lost her appetite.

Anastasia clears our plates and loads them into the dishwasher.

"I'm getting fat," I announce, unsure why I've voiced this aloud.

Anastasia turns off the spigot and takes a step toward me. Her hands rest on her growing belly. She cocks her head to the side, looking me over. Then she bursts into laughter.

The full, rich melody of her amusement is contagious. I find myself laughing along with her. She leans against me for support, giggling into my shoulder. At this point I don't care if she's laughing at me or with me. I'm just thankful she's not crying.

"That's one way to break the tension," she says, her eyes dancing with mirth. "Christian Grey, you'll never be fat."

"Bastille thinks it's some kind of expectant father weight gain."

"Maybe so, but you look delicious to me," She licks her lips just before kissing my neck. She nuzzles my neck, brushing her silky hair against my jawline. Shit, that feels good. "Thank you for the roses. They're beautiful."

"I'm sorry, baby, for all the stupid stuff earlier. Let's get out of here, go for a drive."

"Where?"

"I'm looking for another first. I thought maybe we could take the R8 for a spin."

Anastasia lets out an approving squeal and giggle.

"I look a mess. Give me ten," she says.

"You're perfect exactly the way you are. Grab your jacket."

XXXXXXX

Traffic is light this time of night, so it only takes twenty minutes to reach our destination.

"Christian!" Ana squeezes my thigh. I've made her happy. "The hot donut sign is turned on. They're good, but even better when they're hot. You've got to try one."

The partially-eaten, broken donut I scarfed down earlier will remain my little secret.

"Decaf, black." I tell the pimply faced boy. "A milk and two original glazed."

"Six nineteen," he tells me. I give him a twenty.

"Another first," I confess to Ana. "This is my first time using a drive-thru. I've been a passenger with El a couple of times, but I've never done this myself."

"I've turned you into a common man, Mr. Gray. I hope you're okay with that."

"Oh, baby, you have no idea what it means to me."

"Pull over here," Ana points at some empty spaces under a street lamp in the parking lot. She clutches the warm bag to her chest. "Let's eat them now, while they're hot."

I take a donut from the bag, and break off a small piece.

"Open up." I pop the sticky sweetness into her mouth. "If you're going to moan and groan over a piece of dough, it will be me feeding it to you. You are not allowed to make those sounds when I'm not with you."

"Oh, my darling man, please don't be jealous of a donut."

"These donuts are like crack, so you should understand how upset I was when I got home and found you having a foodgasm."

"I love you," she says, and I feel the heady sensation of her warm, moist lips on my neck.

"Again," I tell her, holding up another piece of donut. She uses her tongue to pull it into her mouth.

"I only want one more bite. You eat the rest. I know you're on a diet, watching that girlish figure of yours, Mr. Grey, but eating an extra half donut won't do you any harm."

"You're a bad influence," I tease. "And I never thought I'd say that about you."

I give her the third bite.

"Mmm." She moans in contentment, savoring the last portion, then washing it down with a small plastic bottle of milk. "Thank you for bringing me here. It was a sacrifice and I love you for it."

It really wasn't a sacrifice, but I want Anastasia to know I do want to please her. Sometimes I lose my way, but her happiness means everything.

"You didn't have much dinner." I'll always worry about her nutrition.

"If I get hungry, I promise I'll eat something healthy. What do you think of Krispy Kreme, Mr. Grey?"

"I shouldn't like these things, but I do."

Anastasia gives me a tight-lipped smile of satisfaction.

"Everything in moderation, my darling."

 **XXXXXXX**


	12. L is for Luminol

**L is for Luminol**

 **Tuesday, November 15, 2011**

 **Anastasia**

"I'll miss this place, but I'm happy for the move," Gail tells me. She tucks flattened boxes under her arm.

"What will you miss?" I have no attachment to this apartment. Yes, it's grand and has sweeping views, but I will forever associate this place with Elena, Leila, and the other submissives. It's a sad place, haunted by my husband's past.

"This is where I started my life over after my husband died. My love story with Jason began here. So the penthouse will always be special to me." Gail releases a shallow sigh.

"I understand. I suppose that's why Montana holds such an allure for me. It's where Christian and I fell in love." My face flushes hot at the memory.

Our Lake Washington home is ready at last. Tomorrow is moving day, and in preparation I've taken a couple of days off work.

The movers came yesterday and took Christian's piano, billiard table, along with books, photographs, and other precious items. This afternoon Gail and I have packed up clothes and other small personal items.

Tonight we'll spend our last night in a place heavy with memories. The move to our new home is an enormous milestone.

Olga Kelly will put the penthouse on the market next week. All the furniture will be included in the sale.

"The last room," Gail says, as we enter the laundry/utility room. We're doing a walk-through to make sure the cabinets and closets have been cleared. This is our final stop.

Gail flips open all the cabinet doors, so we can get a full view of what we're dealing with. Seeing all the cleaning supplies, reminds me of something.

"Did you find a cleaning service to keep this place up until it's sold?" I ask.

"Yes, they'll come by every Thursday. They'll bring their own cleaning supplies, so they won't need this stuff."

"Let's pack this up for the new house. You know how I feel about things going to waste."

Gail and I work well together. We pull everything out of the cabinets. I sort and pack the boxes, while Gail scrubs down the empty cabinets.

"We should probably leave these light bulbs, in case Ms. Kelly has to replace them," I say. "And the paint cans should stay, for any touch-ups to the walls. We'll take everything else."

I pack paper goods, batteries, and laundry supplies. As I sort the cleaning products, I find something unexpected.

"Gail?"

"Yes." Gail answers without looking at me. She's on her knees, wiping the lower cabinets.

"Why do we have luminol?" I hold up the spray bottle. I've watched enough television to know luminol is used for crime scene investigations. Why on earth do we own this?

"Oh, goodness, Taylor said he'd dispose of that for me. He must have forgotten. Set it aside and I'll take care of it."

"I'll ask again, Gail," I say with a laugh. "Why do we have luminol in our cleaning supplies?"

Gail's face falls and she turns away from me.

"I'd rather not say," she whispers.

Shit. What is she hiding?

"Tell me. Whatever it is, I need to know. I deserve to know."

"I don't want to tell you. I don't want any of that in your head," Gail drops her cloth on the floor. "Telling you is probably a violation of Mr. Grey's NDA."

"That NDA doesn't apply to me. You're my friend, Gail, but as your employer, I'm ordering you to tell me."

Gail takes a deep breath, and sits back on her bottom. Wearing a look of defeat and resignation, she scoots back and slumps against the wall.

"On Monday morning, the second week of my employment, Mr. Grey left me note. _'Gail, there's something that needs_ _cleaning under the breakfast bar.'_ I pulled out the Dustbuster, thinking he'd spilled his Wheaties, but there was nothing to be seen. The floor looked just as clean as it had after I'd mopped it the day before.

"I was confused, and being so new, I was a bit intimidated by Mr. Grey. So I asked Jason about it. That's when he explained about Mr. Grey's lifestyle. It was Jason's idea to buy the luminol. He figured it was the best way to clean behind Mr. Grey's activities."

"I still don't understand. How did you use the luminol to clean?"

"Jason had seen it all. He gave me a tour of Mr. Grey's…activity areas…and after cleaning those places, I'd spray luminol to make sure I'd done a thorough job. See that?" Gail points to something behind me on the counter. "That's a handheld blacklight. I used it to find any bodily fluids I might have missed in the cleaning process."

I recall my revulsion when Christian showed me his so-called 'playroom.' Poor Gail had to clean up that mess. Whatever we pay her, it can never be enough.

Christian has explained his past sexual practices, but hearing it from Gail gives new clarity. Truth is I can't wait to be rid of this penthouse. It's always felt like a crime scene. The only thing missing is the yellow tape. Cue the opening credits for 'CSI: Grey Edition.'

"I'm sure you learned a lot about Christian and his sex life from cleaning up behind him. You and Taylor know more about him than I do."

"That's not true." Gail picks up her cleaning cloth and stands to face me. "You know him best."

"But you understand a part of his life that I don't."

Christian can explain it a thousand times over and I'll never fully comprehend his life with Mrs. Lincoln and the subs.

"Whatever you're imagining his life was like, please let me assure you. It wasn't fulfilling. He wasn't happy. And it was nothing remotely like what the two of you share."

"What were the women like?"

"They were pretty. All different, but the same kind of pretty. They were expressionless, like dolls. Bland and lifeless. He forbade them from talking, so they only spoke when spoken to. They were the same way with Jason and me."

Stepford subs. All part of Elena's plan.

"What about Leila?"

"Leila Williams was the exception. She was chatty and friendly, but in a nosy kind of way. She tried to pump me for information about Mr. Grey."

That sounds like the Leila I met. Crazy like a fox.

"How did she behave around Christian?"

"Flirty. Talkative. It was a waste of her time. He had no use for it. I overheard Mr. Grey tell Mrs. Lincoln he disliked all of Leila's blather, but appreciated how it gave him an excuse to cane her." Gail shakes her head at the remembrance of it. "Mrs. Lincoln called Leila 'the ultimate pain slut' and told Mr. Grey he should give her a bonus for finding Leila."

"I think he cared for Leila more than the others."

"He cared for none of them, including her. Those women were no more than toys to him."

"Did you ever consider quitting?" Surely she had moments when she was fed up.

"Never. Mr. Grey has always been kind to me. He's a good man and I'm fond of him. And after developing feelings for Jason, wild horses couldn't drag me away." Gail chuckles at the memory. "Jason and I bonded over a mutual dislike for Mrs. Lincoln. If you hadn't come along, that woman would still be around. You gave him a reason to change. And on a personal level, you've made my life much more pleasant."

"I'm more than thrilled to have removed luminol from your cleaning routine. Thank you for taking such good care of us."

Perhaps I should consider keeping the luminol. I can use it in the new house to check behind our activities on the pool table and piano.

Gail and I share a quick hug, and as we break away, she wipes a tear from her cheek.

"It's a new day," she says.

Yes, Gail. A new day.

 **XXXXXXX**


	13. M is for Mia

**M is for Mia**

 **Friday, January 27, 2017**

 **Christian**

Tonight Anastasia and I are with Kate and Elliot. It was Lell's turn to choose the restaurant, hence the reason I now have barbecue sauce on my chinos. Before having kids, such a mishap would have sent me into meltdown. Five years later, I've mellowed to the point where I'm mildly annoyed.

"We were both three sheets to the wind," Elliot tells us, "and I finally asked E-Dawg if he thought he could ever be attracted to Mia. He said attraction has never been the problem. It's Mia's lack of focus and poor money management skills. He's worked hard to build his practice, and he's finally making some money. He wants a serious relationship, but it'll have to be with someone who isn't so spoiled."

Though I had my doubts when I first met him, Ethan Kavanagh has turned out to be a stand-up guy. Mia's had a thing for Ethan from the beginning, but he's never taken advantage or encouraged her in a romantic way.

Ethan is Mia's friend. He respects her. I've recently found myself wishing he could return her feelings, because I don't think she could ever find someone better.

Mia puts on a happy face, has plenty of dates, and is a fixture on the Seattle social scene, but those close to her see it: the disappointment of unrequited love.

I admire Kavanagh. He used trust fund money to live on while going to grad school, but he lived frugally. He could have hit his parents up for more money, but he wanted to do the heavy lifting himself.

"So far I've kept my mouth shut, but I just want to shake the shit out of my brother." Kate rips up a roll, tossing the pieces aimlessly onto her plate. "I see how much Mia adores Ethan, but he's pushed her into the friend zone. It's difficult to watch as he switches out women every few months."

"So if Mia could become more responsible, you two think Ethan might see her in a different light?" I ask.

"Mia should change for herself, not Ethan," Ana says.

"Baby, I changed for you. Why shouldn't Mia change for Ethan?"

Has she forgotten the monumental changes that can be made for love?

"You would've made all those changes eventually. I just came along and provided a catalyst," she says, rubbing my thigh and nudging my dick.

"Kavanagh could be Mia's catalyst," I say.

"If Mia could rein in her spending, she'd be in fine shape," Ana looks back and forth between Elliot and me. "But some of us continue to spoil her, bailing her out when she overspends. How did the situation get so out of control?"

Ana and I had quite the row over that a few weeks back.

"Banana, she's our baby sister," El argues. "It's difficult to say no."

"Is it so hard to tell her to live within her means?" Ana asks, looking my way.

I don't know how to explain it.

Mia has always been so sweet and loving, so easy to spoil. When we were growing up, she was the glue between Elliot and me. Lell and I adore Mia, as do our parents. We just can't say no.

"Do you want Mia to continue in a state of arrested development?" Kate asks. "She's a grown woman with phenomenal skills and a great job. She's twenty-eight, still living with her parents. She's not a tween on an allowance, so she should stop living like one."

"Says my beautiful wife, whose parents bought her a million-dollar condo in Pike Place." Elliot narrows his eyes at Kate.

"But Bug knows how to live within a budget," Anastasia argues. "She doesn't spend money she doesn't have. All of us have been blessed materially speaking, but we don't buy useless things. Mia has Chanel bags, Louboutins, and Hermes scarves she's never worn, and she continues to buy more. We all adore Mia, but we aren't showing love when we spoil her."

"Okay, baby," I throw my hands up in surrender. "I know you're right. Lell, you talk to Mia. I don't have enough resolve."

"Me? Why should I play the heavy? Bro, you tell her," Elliot argues.

"You're the eldest. The honor should go to you," I say.

"Nope. You're better with words, Chrissy."

I go for the compromise.

"Shit, we'll both sit her down for a heart-to-heart. First, we'll talk to Mother and Dad, tell them we need to present a united front."

"You're doing the right thing," Anastasia says, reaching for my hand.

 **Tuesday, January 31, 2017**

When Elliot and I arrive at the Mile High, Mia is already seated, perusing the menu, and sipping something tall and cold.

"Hey, you two. I can't wait to try some of these new menu offerings."

"New chef, new menu," I tell her.

"I'm impressed," she replies. "So…what's the occasion? It's literally been years since just the three of us had lunch together."

Elliot, who is usually a windbag, looks at me expectantly. Apparently, I'm the one who is supposed to broach 'the talk' with Mia.

"No occasion," I say. "Lell and I decided…on a sibling outing…and here we are."

"I had lunch with Ana and Kate at the station yesterday, so unless things have changed, I'm all caught up with family news. Anything new happen in the past twenty-four hours?" Mia looks back and forth between the two of us, waiting for one of us to speak, but Elliot and I are stuck on mute. "If neither of you will talk to me, I'll introduce myself to the new chef. Excuse me."

As soon as Mia leaves the room, I round on my brother.

"What the fuck, Lell, you haven't said a word since we walked in here. You're going to dump this shit on me, aren't you?"

"You don't understand," he says. "I have a deep-seated need to be adored by my baby sister. I won't be the one to upset her. I'm just along for the ride."

"I don't believe this shit. You're such a pussy." I shove him hard, the way I used to when we were younger.

"Pussy? You're the limp dick." Elliot slaps me upside the head. "You command board rooms, so you should be the one to break her heart and make her cry."

"It's just like you to pass the buck. Asshat." I punch Elliot in the shoulder. "You're older. You should do it."

"Son of a bitch. That shit hurts." He slaps me across the face with his open palm, then makes another swipe with the back of his hand. "Stop being such a pansy, Chrissy, and tell her."

"So afraid to get your hands dirty. You're a whiny little Bieber." I twist Elliot's nose.

"You're a dick-sucking twerp." Elliot pinches my arm.

"I'd kick you in the teeth, but why should I improve your looks?" My frustration has come to a boil.

Somehow we've ended up wrestling on the floor of my private dining room, and I'll be damned if I'll lose the match. Elliot might be bigger, but I've got him in a chin lock.

"Tell her, douche-nozzle," Elliot says, his arms flailing helplessly.

"Stop!" Mia screams. "Both of you! Stop!"

I release Elliot, and look up to see Mia, Chef Hardy, and two waiters staring at us, mouths agape. Mia is flush with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," I say. I push myself off the floor, and straighten my suit.

"Me, too," Elliot says, stumbling as he stands.

"Thank you," Mia tells her entourage. "Could you please give us a few minutes before we order?"

"What was that all about?" Mia demands.

"Just a small disagreement," Lell answers.

"Over what? What does Chrissy need to tell me?" Mia's fists rest on her hips, and she's tapping one foot.

"Let's sit," I say. "We called you here to discuss your future."

"Sounds ominous. Whose idea was this?"

"We both agreed," El says. "Our disagreement was over who should initiate the discussion. Neither of us wants to hurt your feelings."

"We love you," I add, thinking of how seldom I've told her.

Elliot looks at me, takes a deep breath, and dives in.

"How do you feel about E-Dawg?"

"You know how I feel. Ethan and I are close friends. We talk about anything and everything. I wish we could be more, but he's not interested."

"He'll never be interested," Elliot says, "unless you make changes."

Love is a most powerful motivator. I know this firsthand.

"What sort of changes?" Mia leans forward, eyes wide. "I'm open to change."

"E-Dawg told me he's ready to settle down, but he's looking for someone who is grounded, sensible." El is doing well. He's the right person to take the lead on this.

"Hmm," Mia nods and picks up a spoon, turning it over. "Does he not see me as sensible? I'm very good at my job."

It's true. Mia has done well for herself. She's a highly regarded event planner.

"We've spoiled you," I tell her. "Kavanagh is looking for someone who can manage money, run a household on a budget."

"I see. It sounds as if I've been quite the topic of discussion." Mia drops her chin to her chest and shakes her head in defeat.

"The problem can be rectified," I tell her, attempting to buoy her with hope. "I can set you up with my personal accountant, and he'll educate you, assist you with a budget. We'll help you any way we can, but no more handouts. Mother and Dad are on board."

"Do they know you're here?" Mia asks in annoyance and disbelief.

"Yes," Elliot answers, as I nod in agreement.

"Do Mom and Dad want me to move out?" Mia's chin trembles, and for a moment I think she might cry.

"Not until you get your finances in order." I say, recalling how relieved and thankful our parents were when Elliot and I spoke to them. I love our parents, but they've dropped a few balls in the parenting department.

Mother and Dad know they're the cause of Mia's problem. Elliot and I told them we'd do our part, but they must cooperate. They gratefully agreed.

Thank God I'm married to Anastasia, who doesn't coddle our three, and doesn't allow me to do it either.

Mia quiets for a moment, processing everything.

"Thank you for the intervention. I want to improve my habits, and I'll meet with your accountant."

"We'll help you, baby girl," Lell tells her.

"Even if I get my shit together, it won't be enough for Ethan to see me as anything more than a friend. I'm not smart enough. He has a Ph.D., and I graduated from culinary school. He dates professional women, not party planners. When he talks about his work, he has to explain everything to me. I'm an alphabet soup of learning disabilities. My dyslexia is bad enough, but combined with…forget it, he'll never want to be with me."

My heart breaks for Mia. I never knew she had insecurities about her intellect. What else do I not know?

"You'll always be more than enough," I tell her.

"You're doing this for yourself, not for E-Dawg," Elliot tells her. "Put him aside for a moment, and think how proud you'll feel, when you're fully supporting yourself."

"I know you're right. I just can't turn off my feelings. I date all the time, and none of the guys ever measure up to Ethan. Can you understand?"

"Yes," Lell and I answer in unison.

We found our loves, and we want the same for our baby sister.

"Excuse me, I need the ladies' room. Will you order for me, please? Venison osso buco."

"Of course," I tell her.

"I need a drink," Lell announces, after Mia has left the room.

"That went better than expected," I say.

Elliot nods.

"I love you, bro," he says, giving me his playful version of side eye. "But you'll always be a dick-sucking twerp."

"Bieber."

I always get the last word.


	14. N is for Nativity

**Gentle Reader,** **You will understand this entry most fully if you have read Chapter 9: "I is for Intimate." Best always, T Traveller**

 **N is for Nativity**

 **Friday, October 5, 2018**

 **Christian**

"Christian." A sweet, familiar voice is in my ear, and a soft hand runs across my chest. "Wake up. I need you."

"What time is it?" I move my legs and feel something wet.

"Five-ish. My water just broke."

"Shit. I knew we should have stayed home."

When Dad declared he'd celebrate his 65th birthday in Montana, Ana and Kate jumped on the bandwagon.

Our family has grown too large to stay with my parents, so we bought this house a couple of years ago. We have a house in Aspen and an apartment in New York, but this is our favorite getaway. It's only a half mile from my parents' home, so it's easy for us to get together and visit back and forth.

When we decided to make this trip only ten days from Ana's due date, we didn't consider an early arrival. The other three have all arrived past their due date, so the scenario in which we now find ourselves never seemed like much of a possibility.

"Well," Ana sighs, "we didn't stay home and now we're rolling in amniotic fluid. Would you please call Grace to come watch the kids while you take me to the hospital?"

I watch as Ana waddles to our bathroom. The bottom half of her gown is soaked.

Mother doesn't answer her cell phone, so I call the landline. Dad answers.

"Hullo." His voice is raspy, gruff.

"Dad?"

"What's wrong?" Carrick Grey is now on high alert.

"Nothing's wrong. I need to take Ana to the hospital in Kalispell. Her water just broke."

"A grandchild for my birthday…what a fine gift."

"Could you and Mother come watch the kids while we're gone?"

"There's nothing I'd like more, but the blizzard has dumped a couple of feet on our driveway, and it's still coming down."

Blizzard! What the fuck is Dad talking about?

"Well shit! We turned in early last night, and the last I heard a light dusting was forecast. If you can't get out of your driveway, then we won't be able to get out of ours."

"You definitely have a problem on your hands. If anyone can figure it out, you will. Call me back, son, when you work it out. Maybe Sawyer can watch the children. He's rather good with them."

Dad blows me off with no idea of the enormity of this problem. How does he think I'll get Ana to the hospital?

"Sure. Sawyer will stay with the kids. I'll task Reynolds with getting us to the hospital. I'll call you back soon."

Gail and Taylor are off on an anniversary-second honeymoon trip. I wish they were here. Ana and the children could really use Gail's maternal care. Taylor always gives great parenting advice and helps keep me centered. Alas, it wasn't meant to be. It's Sawyer and Reynolds on patrol.

Sawyer answers on the first ring, sounding as fresh as a daisy. Damn, it's nice having employees who don't need sleep.

"Sir, what can I do for you?"

"I need you and Reynolds to come up to the house."

"Now? What's wrong?"

"Mrs. Grey needs to go to the hospital. Our baby wants to be born."

I hear some rustling and banging on the other end.

"I've just stepped outside, and there's zero visibility. Sir, we'll get there as soon as we can, but please turn on as many lights as possible to help guide us."

"Sure. Just hurry."

I hang up and run around like a mad man, hitting light switches, interior and exterior.

The children's rooms are the only ones cloaked in darkness. Our three angels sleep soundly, unaware of the small drama unfolding around them. Soon they'll welcome a new sibling.

Early on, Anastasia decided she wanted gender to be a surprise. She was fine with me knowing, but only if I felt sure I could keep it to myself. After much deliberation, I elected not to learn the gender. Today, all will be revealed.

Anastasia is in the shower, washing her hair. I open the shower door a crack, and watch as a waterfall cascades from her large mound.

"Do you need help?" I ask.

"No, I'll be out in a minute."

"Are you okay?" Her face is scrunched. Is it pain or is she just trying to keep the shampoo out of her eyes?

"My back hurts."

"Labor?"

"Yes."

I strip the sheets and mattress pad. There's a thin vinyl cover over the mattress, something all parents need. I recall all the abuse our children have given our mattresses and linens. Spittle, leaky diapers, vomit, sticky hands, errant food bits, and now amniotic fluid.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

There are fresh linens in the hall closet. I've never changed the sheets on our bed, but after initially trying to put the bottom sheet on the wrong way, I figure it out.

My phone pings.

Sawyer.

 **Reynolds and I are in the kitchen, awaiting instructions.**

It's now six o'clock. Anastasia is still in the shower. What's taking her so long?

I race to the kitchen. Reynolds has made coffee, and when he sees me, he hands me a mug.

Sawyer is on the phone. From his end of the conversation, I know he's speaking to someone from the hospital. I stand next to him, listening in.

"Sir," Sawyer says, "ambulance isn't an option. Visibility is near zero. The roads are impassable. And I don't need to tell you, there's no way a Medevac chopper can fly in this mess."

"Maybe the snowplows will be out soon," I say.

Reynolds and Sawyer exchange concerned looks.

Shit.

"Is there something I need to know?"

"We're two feet in," Reynolds says, "and the forecast is for another foot in the next few hours. I don't think we can expect snowplows."

"After my child has safely arrived, remind me to throttle the asshole forecaster who missed this storm. Let me check on Anastasia."

I hear the hair dryer as I enter the bathroom. Ana is dressed in a loose cotton gown, hunched over the sink.

"Let me do that," I tell her. "Sit on the toilet and I'll fix your hair." I dry her hair and plait it in one long braid down her back.

"I've been timing the contractions," she says. "They're five minutes apart. This labor is progressing faster than the others. We need to get to the hospital."

What the fuck are we going to do?

Shit. I need to tell her.

"We're snowed in." I wait for the enormity of that to sink in.

Anastasia grabs my arms and shakes her head in disbelief.

"No…no…what are you telling me? I don't understand." Her voice is shrill.

"I'm telling you a blizzard is dumping snow on us right now. The roads are impassable. There is no way for us to get to the hospital. If your contractions are five minutes apart, then I need to call Mother and find out what the fuck we're supposed to do."

Anastasia's eyes dart around the room. She bites down on her right knuckle, and fights back tears.

"I'm scared," she says, sucking on her bottom lip.

I'm fucking terrified, but I can't let Ana see the depth of my fear.

"We'll get through this, one step at a time. I'll call Mother and find out what we need to do. In the meantime, try to make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something?"

"Maybe some tea."

"Okay. Be right back," I kiss her forehead, and close the door behind me, so she can have some peace and quiet.

I meet Ted and Maggie as I head toward the kitchen.

"Mommy?" Maggie asks.

"She's resting," I tell her.

"Mommy said we'd have a treat this morning. We're hungry." Looks like cold cereal all the way around this morning. Ana's not up for making treats.

"Where's Ray? He's usually the first one up."

"In the kitchen, waiting for breakfast."

"Let's go find him. I need to speak to all three of you." They'll need to be on their best behavior today. I'm already stressed, and Ana is in labor.

Ted and Maggie run ahead of me. Sawyer helps Maggie up onto a stool.

"Good morning, my three little Greys," I say. "This is a family meeting, and I have an announcement to make."

"First we need the Dutch baby," Ray pouts, his arms folded across his chest. What the fuck is he talking about? I was at the conception, and this baby is one hundred percent American.

"What do you mean?" I ask Ray.

"It's a big, fluffy pancake with fruit on top," Ted explains. "Mommy makes it for us." And how have I missed out on this treat? Anastasia and I need to have a talk.

"That sounds delicious, but Mommy isn't feeling up to cooking this morning. She has a different kind of surprise." I use my excited Daddy voice.

"What?" Ted asks.

"No Dutch baby, but you might be getting a baby brother or sister." I survey their faces.

Ted and Ray send up a chorus of yays, bouncing up and down in their seats. I'm not sure two-year-old Maggie understands, but she mimics her brothers.

"I'll take care of their breakfasts, sir," Sawyer tells me.

"Thank you," I tell him.

"I need you three to help Sawyer. When you're finished eating, you can visit Mommy."

With the children situated, I call my mother.

"Oh, Christian, how's Ana? Carrick told me the situation."

"The contractions are five minutes apart. I'm going to have to deliver this baby, and I need guidance."

"Not to worry, you know more than you think you do. Is there anyone who can help?"

Hell, no. I'm not letting Sawyer or Reynolds near Anastasia when she's giving birth.

"Sawyer is looking after the kids. Reynolds is available, but I don't want him to see Anastasia."

"I understand. Reynolds can help with the preparations. Do you have any antibacterial soap? Latex gloves?"

"No. We don't have either of those things."

"You'll just have to make do, make certain everyone washes their hands. Gather up all the clean towels and linens you can find. Have Reynolds launder all the dirty linens. You need a large supply."

"Okay. Clean hands and linens. What else?"

"You've cut the cord before, so you know what that's like. You'll need to boil some scissors. Do you have anything to clamp the cord? You'll need two clamps."

"Shit. What can I use?"

"Do you have any of those plastic bar clips used for keeping plastic bags closed?'

"I don't know."

"Put Reynolds to work finding some. Tell him to look through the kitchen drawers. You'll need to boil those as well. Do you have a bulb syringe?"

"What's that?" I ask.

"It's used to suction out the nose right after birth. I think Ana has one in the children's first aid kit. Check their bathroom. To tie off the cord, you'll need something soft like shoelaces. Don't use anything thin like dental floss, because that can tear into the tissue. Boil the shoelaces as well, then lay them out to dry on a clean towel. Boil everything for at least ten minutes."

"Bulb syringe, plastic clips, shoelaces. Boil for ten minutes. I've got it."

"And call me back after you do those things."

"Thanks, Mom."

"Reynolds!" I holler. I put him to work finding clips and boiling a big pot of water.

The bulb syringe was right where mother said it was. I play with it for a minute to make sure I know how to use it.

My shoelaces look like crap. I look around the children's rooms, and decide Maggie has the cleanest, newest shoelaces. I pull them out of her shoes, and throw them into the pot with the kitchen shears. I shout hallelujah when Reynolds finds the clips.

It feels good to do something productive. It helps keep my worry at bay.

I fix Ana's tea and carry it into our room. She's propped up in bed, rubbing her belly, breathing through a contraction.

"Four minutes apart, but they're not too bad," she says.

"Spread your legs, baby." She's dilated to the width of three fingers. "I called Mother and she helped talk me through some things. I need to call her back. Do you feel up to seeing the kids?"

"Of course. Send them in."

"Do you need anything?" I rub her feet.

"Maybe send the kids with a banana and some ice chips. And you need to relax."

"It's all happening so fast, and we need to be ready."

"I need you here with me." Anastasia reaches for me, and I hold her tight.

"Only a couple more things to do. I love you, Mrs. Grey." I kiss her forehead.

"And I love you."

XXXXXXX

"How's Ana?" My mother asks. "And how are you?"

"We're both okay. Tell me what I need to know."

"Let Ana push spontaneously. Her body will tell her when to push. Let her soak in a warm bath, or put warm cloths on her perineum to prevent tearing. Perineal massage is also helpful."

Never did I think I'd be having this conversation with my mother.

"Ana wants to eat a banana. Is that advisable?"

"That's fine. Heavy food might make her feel queasy, but a banana is okay. Let Ana follow her instincts and dictate her own needs. Now unless there's an emergency, don't call again until my grandchild is born. Go be with Ana."

"Thanks, Mom…I love you."

"I love you, too." I gather up all the birthing supplies, put them into baggies, and arrange them on a tray. It's almost eight.

When I get back to our room, Maggie is feeding Ana the banana.

"That's enough, Mags," Ted tells her.

Ted's a bossy little control freak. I wonder where he gets that.

"Again," Ray says as he shoves a Curious George book at his mother.

Ana expels a large breath of air, and I know she's experiencing a contraction.

"Mommy needs rest," I tell Ray. "Take the book to Sawyer. He'll be happy to read it to you."

Maggie whines and clings to Ana.

"Kisses first," Ana tells the children, exchanging pecks with each. "Then go find Sawyer."

Ted takes over, leading his brother and sister out of the room. He may be bossy, but he's also helpful and responsible.

"Lock the door," Anastasia instructs me. "No more intruders until after our new one arrives."

"Mother said a warm soak would help prevent tearing. How about I run one for you?"

"Will you get in with me?"

"Of course." I'll never turn down a chance for tub time with my wife.

As the tub fills, I strip out of my clothes and help Ana with her gown. She emits a breathy groan.

"Did I hurt you?" I ask.

"No. The contractions have become more intense," she says, putting my hand on her belly.

"You're handling this well," I tell her. I'm so proud of her.

"It helps that I've been through this before."

"There's something to be said for home births," I say as I help her into the tub. "A hospital would never allow me to get naked in a tub with you during labor."

I slide in behind Ana, and rub circles on her belly.

Anastasia rolls her neck. She's having another contraction, and she's uncomfortable. I massage her shoulders.

"Feels nice," she says.

"I haven't been timing these, but they seem very close together."

"I need to get out of here. All of a sudden I feel like I need to push or pee or both. Can you look down there and see what's going on?"

I help her out of the bath, and wrap a towel around her. She gets on the toilet and empties her bladder.

I dry both of us off and we climb onto the bed. I look between her legs.

I can almost fit my fist into her vagina.

The irony isn't lost on me.

"It won't be long, baby. This is moving fast."

"Shit," she groans. "My back is killing me."

I rub her lower back, but she smacks my hand.

"Don't touch me," she says.

I recognize this. She got like this near the end of her other labors. I took it personally during Ted's birth, but now I know it's all part of the experience.

"Sorry, baby, what can I do for you?"

"Cover up that dick and keep it away from me," she answers. Neither of us put anything on after getting out of the bath. I pull on jeans and t-shirt, and watch helplessly as she pushes through a contraction.

She squats in the middle of the bed, and pushes three more times, grunting and groaning so loudly I wonder what the children must think.

"Let me check you, baby."

"No…need…to…push." She pushes long and hard, and then rolls onto her side. I can see our baby is crowning, and I realize I'm not ready for this.

I scramble for my supplies, and put towels down on the floor. Ana rises up to squat again.

"Get off the bed. Come down here. I'll catch the baby. You're only a couple of pushes away."

She doesn't want to get off the soft bed, but she loses her footing, and realizes the floor might be a better alternative.

I scoop her up and plop her onto the floor.

She pushes with everything she's got, and I watch as the baby turns.

"One more push," I tell her.

This time it's a low, deep grunt, and a short push.

Our baby arrives in a squirt, making a small splash landing, face down in my hands.

"It's a girl," I tell Ana. "She has your hair."

Ana flops down onto the floor on her side. She's an exhausted heap.

I use the bulb syringe, expecting our newborn will now take a breath, but she's silent and still. I'm in a panic. I don't know what to do.

Following my instincts, I lay her on her belly across my lap. I jiggle her gently and rub her back.

"Breathe. Breathe. C'mon, breathe for Daddy," I tell her.

Anastasia pushes up on an elbow, looks at me, then at our baby. Her eyes are wide with horror.

After what feels like an eternity, our daughter gasps her first breath, and lets loose a lusty cry. Ana falls back to the floor in tears.

"The baby's okay. I need your help," I tell Anastasia.

Ana opens her arms to receive our newborn, and I place our infant daughter on Ana's chest, for skin-to-skin contact. I need to get both of them under the covers and warm, but mother and baby are still attached.

"I'll cut the cord now," I tell Ana. I roll the baby on her side, take a deep breath and place one clamp about three inches from the baby's navel. Then I place another clamp about three inches above that.

I cut the cord with our other three children, but this is different. Tears well up as I cut through the tough, rubbery umbilicus.

Even with the towels I've put down, the hardwood floor is a bloody mess.

"I don't want to move until I deliver the placenta," Ana says. "Can you put a couple of pillows under my head? I want to see if she'll nurse."

I prop Ana up, and watch with pride as our daughter latches on to her mother's breast.

"Caroline?" I ask Anastasia.

"Yes, Caroline Mia Grey. Since she is born on Carrick's birthday, no one need know the true origin of her name. We'll tell everyone she was named after her grandfather."

"Well done, Mrs. Grey. Thank you. Another textbook delivery and another glorious little Grey."

"You could have been a doctor," she tells me. "You were very cool, calm, and collected. Thank you. All the births have been special, but this is my favorite, because it was just us two."

"Just us two plus four. I love you, baby."


	15. O is for Oven

**Gentle Reader,**

 **In Chapter 14: "N is for Nativity," there was confusion over the origin of Caroline's name. For clarification, please see Chapter 9: "I is for Intimate." The dates of "Intimate" and "Nativity" offer clues, and as you reread "Intimate," you'll recognize it as Caroline's conception.**

 **As always, thank you for your thoughtful questions and kind feedback. I have the best readers in the fandom.**

 **All the best,**

 **Paula AKA T Traveller**

 **XXXXXXX**

 **O is for Oven**

 **Anastasia**

 **Wednesday, November 27, 2013**

This will be our third Thanksgiving in our beautiful Lake Washington home. Since our first Thanksgiving together, Christian and I have hosted the family celebration. There will be nineteen of us this year.

Besides Christian, Teddy, and myself, we'll feed Dad, Jose Jr. and Sr., Mama and Papa K, Ethan, Grace, Carrick, Mia, Gram and Gramps Trevelyan, Kate, Elliot, and baby Ava. Sawyer and Reynolds will join us.

Taylor and Gail left for Portland this morning to spend the holiday with Gail's sister.

Christian loves playing host. He says it gives him enormous satisfaction to watch everyone eating such a bountiful meal. Thanksgiving has become his favorite holiday. I think it's mine as well, though all the holidays hold special meaning, especially since Christian and Teddy came into my life.

It's getting downright hot in this kitchen. I'm baking pies, apple, pumpkin, and pecan to be exact. The air is fragrant with nutmeg, cinnamon, and brown sugar.

"Mama!" Teddy runs to me, hugging my legs with exuberance. Running is his newest skill. He's nineteen months old and a little whirlwind.

I pick him up and hold him on my hip. It won't be long before he's too big for this. I pepper his little face with kisses. He giggles and squirms to get down.

"Doodwa?" He looks around, and I know he's searching for his Fisher-Price doodle pad.

"It's over there, right where you left it. On the stool." I point to the breakfast bar.

Teddy toddles over and reaches up to retrieve his pad. He loves to scribble. Christian and I can't make heads nor tails of the drawings, but Teddy will point to them and tell us, "twuck" or "hoppacoppa." He loves trucks, helicopters, and boats.

"Hello?" Christian's voice booms through the house.

"Daddy!" Teddy's eyes light up at the realization his favorite plaything has arrived home.

"Kitchen," I answer.

"There's my family," Christian scoops up Teddy, and leans down to give me a quick peck on the lips. "Damn, it smells good in here. All done for the week, unless a crisis pops up. Ros sends her love. She and Gwen and the girls should be taking off about now."

Christian gave Ros use of the jet for the holiday weekend. She and Gwen are taking their daughters to visit Gwen's family in Ohio. A little over a year ago, they adopted two sisters, Makayla and Marina, who had been in the foster care system. The girls, ages five and seven, were mistrustful at first, but therapy, love, and patience are now paying off.

The first time I met Makayla and Marina, they were glum little things, but when they came for dinner a couple of weeks ago, they were quite smiley and relaxed. Because of their background, Christian has a sense of kinship with the girls. In return, they adore him, always asking him to play piano for them.

"Hot, Daddy. Hot." Teddy points to the oven, and wiggles, signaling for his father to let him loose.

"Yes. The oven is hot. And so is Mommy. I think we all need to hit the sack early tonight. Daddy needs the rest. What do you say, Mommy?"

"That's a good idea, Daddy. Mommy could use some rest. It's been…" I check my Cartier watch, a gift from my husband. "It's been at least eighteen hours since we last had rest. I was thinking about having some long, slow rest tonight. What kind of rest did you have in mind?"

It's probably wrong to talk this way in front of our son, but he's doodling away, paying us absolutely no attention.

"Any kind of rest is good, as long as it's with you, Mrs. Grey." Christian gently brushes flour off the apron covering my swollen belly. He pulls my back to his front, and rests his large palms on the mound containing our unborn child. "How's our little bun in the oven?"

"Napping, I think. I haven't felt much movement for the past couple of hours."

"Any more thoughts about names?"

"We have three more months to decide," I remind him. "Why the rush?"

"You know how I like to have things settled." Christian kisses my neck. "Indulge me."

"You're difficult to resist. I indulge you far too often. I didn't want to know the gender, but you gave me that sexy pout of yours, and I caved."

The timer buzzes. I don mitts, and open the oven door.

"Hot, Mommy," Teddy cautions, and scoots back from his spot on the floor, dragging the doodle pad with him.

Christian inspects the pies as I pull them out, one by one, and lay them on cooling racks.

"You've outdone yourself, baby. These look and smell amazing. I'm so proud of you, so proud to have a real wife, not a plastic trophy wife. I appreciate you knowing how to cook, clean, and take care of a family."

"I'm just a Martha Stewart wannabe, a jill-of-all-trades, but mistress of none."

"Not true. You'll always be mistress of my dick, baby." Christian whispers, pulling me close, placing my hand on his length. "Can you feel that?"

"Our son is in the room," I whisper. "Behave."

Christian now has flour on his lovely dark navy Armani suit.

"Fine. But we're putting Ted to bed early."

"These pies seem to have an effect on your libido," I say. "Why is that?"

"I could pay people to do everything, but when you cook mac and cheese, or steam press my pants, or trim my hair, you add love. I feel cherished and important, and that shit goes straight to my dick."

My husband is very traditional in many ways, but when he tells me he's proud of my domesticity, it's not because he's locked into gender specific roles. Christian is very supportive of women's rights and choices.

His pride and appreciation of me goes back to his life with his birth mother. He's tried to forgive her for neglecting him, allowing him to go dirty and hungry, allowing him to be abused. My husband has come a long way toward forgiving his birth mother, and I am quite proud of his efforts.

"And you make me feel cherished, as well," I say. "You encourage me, listen to all my concerns. On Fridays, when Mia, Kate, and I tape our segment, you know how draining it is for me, so you give me a massage and share a hot bath with me. You always make me feel beautiful and loved."

"Daddy, doodwa. Come doodwa," Teddy demands.

"Okay, son, let's doodle. Let's sit at the counter." Christian straps Teddy into his booster. Teddy loves sitting at the breakfast bar, especially when he's with his dad. "What should I draw?"

"Twain."

"Choo-choo. Here comes the train." Christian does everything well, including sketches. In a matter of seconds, Thomas the Tank Engine appears on the screen, and Teddy claps his hands in appreciation. Teddy swipes the screen clean and begins his own sketch.

"Back to names, baby. What do you think?"

"I like the idea of sticking with family names. How about Raymond Christian Grey?"

Christian sits back on the bar stool, with his arms crossed, contemplating my suggestion.

"Raymond," he smiles in agreement. "After your dad. I like that."

Christian and my father have forged a solid relationship and they enjoy spending time with one another. My dad has even taken to calling him 'son.'

"But you don't like Christian as a middle name?" I don't understand his reticence.

"It seems narcissistic," Christian says. "Let's call him Raymond, and we can discuss a middle name later. Are you sorry we found out the gender? I know you like surprises."

"Next time keep me in the dark." I step over to Christian and turn, so he can untie my apron. I need to shake off the flour.

"Do I have your permission to make an announcement tomorrow? Please, baby. Mia has been nagging the hell out of me about it."

"Sure. When we go around the table and tell what we're thankful for, you can make the announcement." Christian enjoys sharing special news, and he always does it with such pride and enthusiasm.

"Two sons, baby. I never thought I'd have a wife or children, but soon we'll have two. And several more to come, I hope. Thank you for giving me a family."

"Twuck," Teddy says to himself, happily lost in his scribbling.

I brush flour off my husband's suit, and accidentally on purpose, I graze his bulge.

"Yes, my darling, several more to come."

 **XXXXXXX**

 **Thank you for your reviews. Your feedback is my fuel.**


	16. P is for Past

**Thank you, nikkistew2!**

 **P is for Past**

 **Friday, January 21, 2022**

 **Christian**

It's a miserable day. A winter storm is headed our way. This is perfect weather for snuggling with my wife, and I can't wait to get home. It's been a long, fucking week, and I've had back-to-back meetings all day.

I wait inside the revolving doors of Grey House for Taylor to pick me up. I'm flanked by Prescott and Reynolds. I'm rarely forced to wait for Taylor, as he's stellar at anticipating my every move, but he's been out running errands and is stuck in traffic.

There's a woman on the sidewalk, peering at me through the revolving doors. She's bundled up in purple quilted down, and looks vaguely familiar. I take another glance, double-checking if I know her, but quickly decide I don't.

My phone pings, and I'm greeted with a photo of Anastasia. To be specific, it's her cleavage, an area I know very well.

 **A: Meet you in the bedroom at six sharp. Sophie is home from Wazzou for the weekend and will watch spawn. It's been a long day and I need a COCK-tail.**

I answer with a devil emoji. If Taylor arrives soon, I can certainly be home by six.

The woman in purple peers in again.

"Sir, do you recognize her?" Reynolds asks. "She's behaving strangely."

"I'll investigate," Prescott offers. She's a tall imposing figure, over six feet tall.

Reynolds and I watch as Prescott speaks to the woman.

Reynolds' phone pings.

"It's Prescott. She's bringing the woman into the building. Sir, please go to Taylor's office, while we deal with the unsub."

I do as I'm told. Taylor's office is small, about eight by eight, and has a one-way mirror which looks into a conference room. It seems a long time since I was last here, and I make myself at home looking at Taylor's family photos. It pleases me to see he has a picture of my family and his, from our vacation in Maui last year.

After a few minutes, the lights come on in the conference room, and I have a complete view of Prescott, Reynolds, and the woman in purple.

I freeze when I recognize the face, just inches from me on the other side of the mirror. She can't see me, but it appears that she can, and it creeps me the fuck out.

I'm face-to-face with my past in the form of Miss Serena Lane, submissive number three. She was older than me by a few years. She's forty-five or forty-six now, and the years have not been kind. Deep lines and creases bear evidence of much travail.

Prescott conducts the interview, which I know is being recorded, while Reynolds types into his phone.

I hit the toggle switch so I can listen.

"Have a seat," Prescott says. She pulls out a chair for number three and takes the seat across from her. "Tell me again why you were waiting for Mr. Grey."

"Mr. Grey and I are old friends. I just want a few minutes with him. Tell him Serena Lane needs to speak to him."

"Mrs. Nethercutt, what business could you possibly have with Mr. Grey?" Prescott asks.

"How did you know my married name?"

"We know everything about you," Prescott says. "You're separated from your husband of ten years. You have two children, Joshua and Jessica, ages eight and nine. You live in Lakewood, and you're a medical billing clerk. You work three blocks from here."

"And according to the information sent to me just now," Reynolds adds, "you use the car park two doors down and walk past Grey House twice a day, to and from work."

"What the hell," number three huffs. "You monitor me?"

Reynolds leans against the wall wearing a look of amusement. Prescott folds her arms across her chest and clenches her jaw.

"Tell us what your business is with Mr. Grey," Prescott orders.

"I was on my way home, saw him inside the lobby, and was hoping to speak to him before he left for the day. You know, catch up on old times."

Shit. She can't be serious. Stupid bitch.

What the hell was I thinking all those years ago?

"Mr. Grey is exceedingly busy," Prescott says. "He doesn't stand around and shoot the breeze, 'catching up on old times,' as you call it."

"We were friends. It was a long time ago."

I've heard enough. I decide to put an end to the interview.

I throw the door open as I enter the conference room, startling Reynolds.

Number three smiles when she sees me. I put her in place with the cold dominant glare of all those yesteryears, the dark days before I met my Anastasia. Number three drops her head in recollection of her submission.

"Sir," she says.

"What the fuck are you playing at coming around my business?" I ask. "You're in violation of the no-contact clause of your NDA." A court would likely rule the clause as unenforceable, but number three probably doesn't know that.

"Sir," she pleads. "I need to speak to you. Privately."

"That will never happen," I tell her. "There's nothing for us to discuss. We do not know one another. We never knew each other, and we liked it that way."

"I'm in a bind, sir. I need money, and I need it fast. My kids…you must know how it is with children." I've opened up about my early beginnings, and my story is out there for anyone to read. She's making an enormous miscalculation, if she thinks referencing the crack whore will make me open my wallet.

"The answer is no."

"I don't wanna sell my story…our story…but if you don't help me, I have no other option."

"The story of my past is out there. What story were you planning to sell?" There's nothing she can do to hurt me as far as selling information. But speaking to my wife and children is another matter entirely.

"The details aren't known." Number three lowers her voice. "The public might like to know how rough you were with a cane, the orgasm denial. There's plenty of stuff that isn't in the public domain."

She could create trouble.

I was one sick fuck, and I don't want my children to ever hear or read that shit.

"Do not ever threaten me." I raise my voice and take a step toward her. She cowers. Bending toward the vile bitch, I whisper, "Share our story? They say a picture's worth a thousand words. Wonder how much moving pictures are worth? Bet little Josh and Jess would love to see their mother in action."

Her face pales, as she tries to find a chink in my armor. When it comes to subs, there are none. I made them no promises, and I'm a man of my word. Trying to cash in on our defunct contract makes her little more than a whore.

"Sir…please, sir." Tears well up in number three's eyes.

I feel nothing but revulsion and contempt. How dare she try to shake me down.

"This conversation is being recorded. You speak one word about me, and all video goes viral."

I motion for Reynolds to follow me, and I exit the room.

"I'll wait in Taylor's office while you get rid of her. Write up a memo for record and send a copy to my lawyers."

"Of course, sir. It will only take a moment. Taylor is out front waiting for us."

As I enter Taylor's office, Prescott is putting number three on notice. I flip the toggle, so I don't have to listen to any of it.

I pound and kick the shit out of Taylor's office chair. As hard as I've tried, there's no escaping my past. I may deserve this, but my wife and children do not.

Anastasia. I need her now. I pull out my phone and smile in anticipation of hearing her voice.

"Where are you?" Ana asks. "I miss you."

"I got held up. There was a problem…a former submissive was loitering outside the front of Grey House."

After a momentary silence, Anastasia sighs.

"We both knew something like this was bound to happen sooner or later."

My wife has had to accept my past, and she's handled it well. I don't know how she does it.

"Baby…are you ever sorry for taking me on?" Please tell me we're okay.

"Surely you must know how much I love you," she says.

"I need you," I say. I will always need her.

"Come home," she whispers. "We can fuck the demons away."

"Soon."

Anastasia knows exactly how to restore my equilibrium.

XXXXXXX

Taylor leans against the SUV. I don the scarf and gloves the kids gave me for Christmas and pull up my coat collar, bracing for the cold. I push through the revolving door, Reynolds on my heels.

Taylor eyes me with concern, and tosses the keys to Reynolds, who takes the driver's seat.

"Sorry I wasn't here earlier," Taylor says.

"No need to apologize. It's not your fault."

Taylor holds the car door for me, and climbs into the front passenger seat.

"Are you okay?" Taylor asks, looking me over. "You seem a bit…shaken."

Fuck no, I'm not okay. Some bitch just popped out of my ignominious past and tried to shake me down.

"After I came out to the press, I thought everything would be fine. That was foolish and overly optimistic of me."

I'll never escape my past. It's my personal sword of Damocles.

"Short of fitting the women with cement shoes," Taylor says, "we've done all we can to avert problems."

My security team can do their best to monitor the women, remind them of their NDAs, and imply certain consequences, but at best, it's all hot air.

"These years with Ana and the kids have given me new life. I don't want my children to bear the shame of my choices."

"I wouldn't worry about that. You have great relationships with your kids. At the risk of sounding trite, all you can do is take each day as it comes."

"I'm sure you're right." I'll be able to put things in perspective once I'm home with Anastasia.

"Ryan and Reynolds are your weekend coverage, but Gail and I will be around, if you need us. Sophie is home for the weekend."

"Ana texted me about Sophie. Looks like she'll be sitting for us tonight."

"You have a big night planned? I didn't see anything on the calendar."

"We're staying in…quiet time for Mommy and Daddy."

"Gotcha." Taylor leans across to make eye contact with me in the rear view mirror. He wears a knowing smile. "That should make you feel better, sir."

Anastasia. My tonic, my balm.

I return Taylor's smile letting him know exactly how much better I'll feel.

 **XXXXXXX**

 **Only 11 more days until the US premiere of Freed!**

 **Thank you for your reviews!**


	17. Q is for Quickening

**Q is for Quickening**

 **Christian**

 **Sunday, October 16, 2011**

Dad is tending bar, Mia is plunking around on the piano, and my grandparents are settled on the sofa. Ana and I are at my parents' house for dinner, enjoying the cocktail hour, waiting for Elliot and Katherine.

My mother brings out a tray of canapés, then returns to the kitchen to check on the roast.

I hand Ana a glass of grapefruit juice. She looks beautiful in her blue dress. It shows off her new shape.

"Can I get you anything else, baby? Maybe you should put your feet up." I pull an ottoman over to the swivel rocker where she sits. She takes a sip of the juice and smiles.

"You spoil me so. I'm only in the beginning of my fifth month. You really should pace yourself, or you'll be exhausted by the time I reach full term."

"I can never spoil you enough. And you constantly spoil me, bringing goodies to the office." I wink, letting her know I'm thinking of the very special interlude we had on Friday. "I can never get enough of your sweet treats."

My wife rewards me with her melodious giggle, but her amused grin suddenly turns to a look of alarm. Her hands are low on her belly, the spot where our baby grows.

"What's wrong? Should I get Mother?"

She looks around the room, as if to make sure no one has overheard. My dad is speaking to my grandparents, and Mia is amusing herself with show tunes.

"No. Let's go to your room."

I scoop Ana up in my arms and carry her off to the stairs.

Gramps calls out to us, as Dad and Grandmother fall into gales of laughter.

"Jeez, son, don't you get enough at home?"

When I get to my childhood bedroom, the door is slightly ajar, so I kick it open.

I gently place Ana on my bed, and she hikes up her dress. She's been especially needy lately, requesting both my dick and cunnilingus skills, at least twice each day. I pull down her panties.

"Save that for later." If not sex, what does she have in mind?

Ana grabs my hands and puts them on her belly.

"Can you feel that?"

And I'll be damned if I don't feel movements coming from within her. They're weak, but they're definitely there.

"Our baby?" I ask.

"Yes, my darling man. Our baby." Her eyes are filled with tears of joy.

With one hand fixed on her belly, I nestle into my precious wife, the mother of my child. She runs her fingers through my hair.

"What's it like," I ask, "to feel our baby move inside you?"

"Enchanting," she says.

Her smile is sweet, tender, and it belongs only to me.

"Yes, baby, I think I know what you mean."

 **XXXXXXX**

 **Coming tomorrow is my favorite from this series: "R is for Ray." It was so much fun to write, and I can't wait for you to read it.**


	18. R is for Ray

**R is for Ray**

 **Saturday, December 12, 2020**

 **Christian**

"What do we want today?" I search the fridge for leftovers.

Anastasia is Christmas shopping with Mia and Kate today, which means I'm on dad patrol. It's lunchtime and my troop is hungry. I still haven't learned to cook, but I'm a master at heating leftovers and making sandwiches.

"Mom made meatballs and put them in the freezer. I can help you make meatball subs," Ted suggests.

"Meatball, Daddy." Caroline agrees, as she reaches into a sparkly red purse.

"Mmmm, meatball subs are good," Ray says, looking up from his electronic game.

"No," Maggie counters, pointing at me with a red crayon. "Fried baloney sandwich."

"Baloney? We don't have that. And where did you hear about baloney?"

I can't believe someone introduced my children to processed meat. How could such a thing have happened? Does Ana know?

"PawPaw Ray makes fried baloney sandwiches for us," Ted says. "They're really great. First he toasts Wonder bread, then he spreads on mayonnaise and mustard. He fries the baloney and puts it between the pieces of bread. Plus he adds a slice of American cheese."

Ray Steele, an otherwise good man, is poisoning my children.

I take a deep breath and count to ten. I need to calm down, before I speak to Anastasia about this. Baloney is off limits to the Grey clan, and Anastasia needs to pass the word to her dad.

Doesn't Ray know where his food comes from? I'm no purist. We eat meat. We eat carbs. Gluten isn't an issue in our house.

But _baloney_?

Most people spell it bologna, after the city in northern Italy, but that's an insult to the fine citizens of the region. I call it baloney, because that's exactly what it is.

Who the hell knows what's in baloney? I've always heard it's a meat paste made from all the parts of an animal we wouldn't normally eat, like the anus and the snout. Add lard, and voila, it's lunch meat.

Wonder bread has no roughage and little nutrition. It's like ingesting carby air. And American cheese is just plain disgusting. Everybody knows the processed stuff isn't real cheese.

Ray has a penchant for overcooking his meat, so I know he fries that baloney until it has char marks. I've tried to explain how the molecular structure of meat changes under high heat, creating the perfect carcinogenic storm, but Ray just won't listen.

"New house rule," I announce. "No baloney sandwiches for any of you. They're poison."

"Poison?" Eight-year-old Ted's voice fills with alarm. "We're gonna die?"

"No, son. You haven't eaten enough of them yet to die."

"What about PawPaw? He's gonna die. He eats 'em all the time." Tears spill down Ted's cheeks.

"We need to call PawPaw now and tell him to stop," Ray says. "Now, Daddy."

"I don't want my PawPaw to die," Maggie cries. "I love PawPaw."

"PawPaw...PawPaw." Caroline, age two, is a sympathetic crier, and has joined the chorus of wails.

In no time, I have four hysterical children on my hands.

Ray stumbles to the kitchen landline and picks up the receiver. I take it from him.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Calling PawPaw. To warn him. He can go to the doctor and then he won't die."

Oh, shit. I need to fix this before Ana finds out.

"Stop crying," I order. "There won't be any dying today. I was exaggerating when I said baloney was poison."

"What's that mean? Exaggerating." Ray is only six, but he's smart.

All my children are extremely bright. I can explain this and make them understand.

"Exaggeration is when you say something is bigger, smaller, better, or worse than it really is. So when I said baloney was poison, I only meant it's not particularly good for you. It's not literally poison. It's not like eating Drano or drinking gasoline."

"Then baloney isn't poison. You lied to us," Ray says, the hurt evident in his voice.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," Maggie says, her arms folded in defiance. "You should sit on the naughty step, Daddy."

"You told me lying is the worst thing a person can do," Ted says. "You punished me when I lied about breaking the screen on your iPad."

"An exaggeration isn't a lie. Well, technically it is. But when I called baloney a poison, I meant it more as a figure of speech."

"What's a figure of speech?" Ray asks.

"It's when something isn't literally what you say it is. You say something is something else, but it's not really exactly that thing."

Oh, hell, that didn't come out right. I'm stepping all over my own dick with this baloney situation.

Maggie stares at me in disappointment. How do I explain this to a child who's only four and a half?

"Still sounds like a lie," Ted says, eyeing me with suspicion. "If something isn't what you say it is, it's a lie."

"All of this is something you'll learn when you get older. You'll exaggerate or use figures of speech, and you won't be telling lies when you do it."

"I wonder what Mom will say about this," Ted says.

Oh, crap, I can see where this is headed. Ted's going to snitch on me to his mother.

"Please, let's call PawPaw. I need to know he's okay." Ray is very worried.

"Fine, but let's have lunch first."

I need to figure out how I'm going to tell Ray what I've done. This won't be the first time I've had to tap dance for my father-in-law.

I drag out the meatball sandwich preparation, stalling for time. I chop up bananas and apples to plate with the sandwiches.

By the time I get lunch served, my own appetite is gone.

I walk into the great room, where there's a bit of privacy, but still a full view of the kids.

The call is about to go to voicemail when Ray answers.

"Hey, son, what can I do for you?"

"Actually…I have a bit of a problem."

"Annie? The kids?"

"Everyone's fine. Except I've done something, and I need you to help me straighten it out."

"Just come out with it, son. You know I don't have time for nonsense."

"Right…well…you see…Anastasia's not home. I was making lunch. Mags said she wanted a fried baloney sandwich. I told the kids we wouldn't be eating any baloney. I said baloney sandwiches are poison."

"So you were talking out your ass again? What have I told you about spreading bullshit?"

Damn. Ray has me on the ropes.

"Well, sir, my saying baloney sandwiches are poison isn't exactly bullshit. There's the Wonder Bread and fake cheese. In addition to having no nutritional value, they actually create an inflammatory response in the body. And baloney is made from the by-products of the slaughter, the parts of the animal no one wants to eat. So you can't say I misrepresented the sandwiches."

"Son, I love you. You make my daughter very happy. You're a good person. But sometimes you're a judgmental bonehead. I have one word that will refute your poisonous baloney claim."

"And what's that?"

"Annie."

What the hell. Why must he always invoke my wife's name? This is never good.

"What does Anastasia have to do with baloney sandwiches?"

"My beautiful, intelligent daughter grew up on fried baloney sandwiches. She is the direct product of baloney, Wonder bread, and American cheese. What do you say to that?"

Fuck, no, my poor Anastasia. Is she suffering from baloney-induced cellular damage? Have her telomeres shortened as the result of a poor diet?

"I'm speechless," I say.

The last thing I need is an argument with Ray.

Ray's smug laugh trills across the phone lines.

"Of course you're speechless. There's nothing you can say, because once again I'm right and you're wrong. Don't take it too hard, son."

"There's more to it. When I said the baloney sandwiches were poison, the kids starting crying. They're afraid you're about to die. Ray, they're terribly worried about you."

"How 'bout I FaceTime them? Should I call now?"

"They're eating lunch at the moment. Is twenty minutes okay?"

"Sure. In the meantime, tell them PawPaw is alive and well, and sends his love. I love you, too, son."

I've never said it before, but I do love and respect Ray.

"Love you, too, Ray. Thanks for bailing me out."

"You're welcome, kid. Twenty minutes."

"Ray…may I ask another favor?" I know I'm pushing my luck. "Is there any way we can keep this just between the two of us?"

XXXXXXX

 **Only nine more days! Thanks for reading and reviewing!**


	19. S is for Spinnbarkeit

**S is for Spinnbarkeit**

(pronounced spin-bar-kite)

 **Thursday, January 5, 2012**

 **Anastasia**

"What's the surprise you have for me? You said as soon as Ros and Gwen left, you'd tell me."

I watch my husband pull off his t-shirt. Damn, he looks fine.

"I've got it all planned," Christian says, climbing into bed next to me.

"What's that?" Is he talking about our babymoon in Aspen? I thought that was already set.

"Our birth control," he says. "I did research. I have it all worked out. Remember? Dr. Monroe suggested we discuss it, so we're prepared after delivery."

"This sounds less of a discussion and more of a unilateral decision."

"Just hear me out, baby. Like I said, I've done all the research, so I know what's best for us."

"Well, what's it going to be?" I can't resist rolling my eyes at him. "The shot or the pill?"

"Neither," he says, rubbing my huge belly.

His answer is surprising, given what I know about his submissives.

"Really? I assumed you'd want to use the same methods you used in your past relationships."

"How many times must I tell you? Those weren't relationships. The submissives were all on the shot, with the exception of Leila. When she began getting all flirty, I made her get Norplant. That way I could see it, right there on her arm, and know it was working. I didn't care any more than they did about the long-term health risks. They all agreed. But you're different, baby. You're my everything. I won't put you at risk. Your body belongs to me."

"My body does belong to you," I tell him, as I run my fingers across the tuft of hair in the middle of his chest. "But maybe I should be in control of whatever goes into it. I know you have my best interests at heart, but I'd like to have a say in what goes into my body."

"That's just it, baby. I don't want you to put anything into your body. Your body is mine, the same way mine is yours."

Christian pulls me closer, so my head is on his shoulder.

"Tell me about your research."

"Hormones bring cancer risks and other side effects. Norplant is doubly unacceptable because it creates a scar and can be difficult to remove. I don't want anything to mar your beautiful skin. And the depo shot causes weight gain and prolonged bleeding. It also decreases some women's libidos. I like your libido exactly the way it is. So hormonally based methods are off the table."

I'm relieved about this, as I've had my own concerns over pumping hormones into my system. Thank goodness Christian and I are on the same page.

"What about an IUD or diaphragm? Aren't those safe?" I don't know nearly as much as I should about contraceptive methods.

"All IUDs carry a risk of uterine perforation, so that's a non-starter for me. And diaphragms are only 88% effective and should be used with a spermicide. I don't want any toxic chemicals inside you."

"That doesn't leave much for us to work with," I say. "We only used condoms a few times, and look where that got us." I look down at my belly, and we both laugh.

"Our little blip taught us a valuable lesson. Condoms have a very high success rate when used correctly. We'll be more disciplined moving forward."

"My body has no discipline when it comes to your magic dick. How are we going to overcome that?"

"Something called the Fertility Awareness Method. I can make it work for us." Doesn't Christian see the irony of a family planning method with F.A.M. as the acronym?

"Never heard of it. You need to explain," I say.

"There are three steps to the method, but one of them won't work for us, so I propose we use two of them."

"Why won't one of them work?"

"It involves you taking your temperature every morning before you get out of bed. Baby, I know you won't do it the way you're supposed to, so I'm not going there."

"You know me so well. I'm too grouchy in the morning to mess with that, and with a little one coming, I'll be too busy. What are the other two steps? The ones you think we should use."

"I remember you telling Dr. Superman about your 28-day cycle and how it was always like clockwork. I've downloaded an app so I can track your cycle." Christian reaches for his phone, which is charging on his nightstand. He opens up the app and shows me. "On the days that are safe, days 1 to 6 and 20-28, we can have sex without worry. The unsafe or risky days are 8 through 19, and on those days we'll use a condom or have non-vaginal sex."

I think about this for a few minutes, and then realize something.

"Christian, about days 1 through 6…I've never had my period around you, and you're expecting me to have period sex. That's kinda gross."

"In the BDSM world, I saw all manner of bodily fluids. Blood isn't going to put me off. You're safe during your period, so I'll be all over you, baby. You'll get comfortable with it…I promise." Christian's voice is husky and low.

"And you think we'll be disciplined during those eleven risky days?"

"Yes. Hand the reins over to me, and I'll see to it. This is a big thing I'm asking of you, but I'd like to be completely in control of our family planning."

"No Irish twins," I remind him. "I want them spaced a couple of years apart."

"Agreed. I'll take as many babies as you'll give me, but when you decide you don't want any more, I won't argue. I'll get a vasectomy."

"You'd get a vasectomy?"

"Of course. All you have to do is ask. Are you having second thoughts about a large family?"

"No, but I think we should reevaluate after each one."

"Of course."

"You never told me the third part of the method."

"Spinnbarkeit."

"Gesundheit! What in the world is that?"

"Very funny." Christian rolls his eyes at my joke. "Spinnbarkeit refers to the way the cervical mucus changes around the time of ovulation."

"Ew. Mucus. Now my gesundheit joke seems even more appropriate. What kind of changes?"

"The color and texture changes. I found images online. It takes on the appearance of raw egg whites. It's clear, stretchy, and stringy like saliva. When sperm is deposited in spinnbarkeit, it can survive until ovulation occurs."

"Holy crap! I know what that is. At the Heathman I touched myself and it was wet and stretchy between my fingers." Recalling the day of Blip's conception is a wonderful memory.

"Well, I've never seen it," he says. "Or if I did, I had no idea what I was looking at. By checking the changes in your cervical mucus we can also pinpoint ovulation. Postpartum your period might not be as regular as it was before, so we need other ways to establish ovulation."

"This sounds like the Rhythm Method. I've heard a lot of jokes about that. It's highly unreliable."

"It's 76 to 88 percent reliable, but that figure includes people who aren't as committed as I am. I'll take care of you, baby."

I believe Christian, when he says he'll take care of me. When he makes a decision, he commits to it.

Truth is I'm an only child who grew up wanting to be one of the Waltons. If we have a whoops or two, we'll deal with it.

"I hereby give you dominion over my body and complete control over our contraception." With a dramatic flourish worthy of a Price is Right model, I make a wave over my body, showing Christian his prize.

Christian takes my face in his hands and presses my mouth with a deep kiss.

"Oh, baby, you make me so happy. You have no idea how much it means to have your trust."

"You say you're not a Dom, and I agree with that assessment. But this is a bit like having my submission, isn't it?"

My husband is a complicated man, and I don't know if a lifetime will be long enough to learn all his idiosyncrasies.

"I suppose so. I need this, baby. Thank you."

Feminists would have a field day with this, but they don't know us. Christian needs control of my body, and I give it to him freely, without reservation. Well, maybe I have some reservations, but I'm learning to pick my battles. Besides, I have an 'in' with the boss.

"How about taking control of me right now?"

"What's your pleasure tonight, Mrs. Grey? Ready for my magic dick?"

"Always," I say, reaching into his boxer briefs.

 **XXXXXXX**

 **Thank you, nikkistew2 and stearncs321!**

 **Only eight more days until Freed! Thank you for reading and reviewing!**


	20. T is for Target

**Gentle reader,**

 **This chapter is a contrast to Chapter 8: "H is for Halloween," and shows the evolution of Christian's Halloween experience. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing.**

 **Best, P.**

XXXXXXX

 **T is for Target**

 **Saturday, October 24, 2020**

 **Christian**

What the fuck was I thinking? Four kids, and now Ana's pregnant again.

"Are you sure about this, honey?" Ana runs her fingers through my hair. Her touch soothes me, but she's about to walk out the door and take those magic fingers with her.

Her nails gently rake across my scalp, and she gazes at me with tenderness and love. My hairline may be receding a bit, but Ana always tells me how attractive I am. I hope she always likes what she sees.

"Of course I'm sure. I want you to go out. You need to spend time with the girls." It's all a big, fat lie. I'm not sure about this at all.

All four Grey progeny woke up on the wrong damn side of the bed. Ted punched Ray for looking at him 'funny.' Ray retaliated with name-calling. When Maggie rearranged Ray's legos, he threw her favorite doll across the room, shouting orders to keep her paws off his stuff. Maggie had a crying fit, and when Caroline heard Maggie, she started up her own waterworks.

It's only 9 am, and I'm done for.

At the moment I'd like to throw these kids through a plate glass window, and fuck my wife into the middle of next week. I didn't get my customary Saturday morning shenanigans, and I'm edgy, anxious, out of sorts. Sloppy blow jobs at dawn are a Grey family tradition, and I've become a very traditional guy.

Mrs. Crossley, our part-time nanny, is out of town visiting her son. She was hired to help out a few hours a week during Ana's obligations at the station. On occasions when Ana and I take short jaunts out of town, 'Mrs. C' also stays overnight with the children.

When Ana reminded me of her spa day plans, I wanted to call Mrs. Crossley. Ana seemed a bit pleased when she explained our nanny's unavailability. "It's been too long since you've had any special daddy time with your children. It'll be good for you, and good for them."

I'll just have to deal with it. Ana hasn't been out with her friends in a while, and she needs time away from the children.

Ana plays with my hands, turning them over in hers.

"I'm sorry you didn't get your Saturday morning hanky panky," she whispers. "I'm not sure Caroline is feeling well. Please keep an eye on her. As for all that good loving you missed out on, I'll make it up to you later. Try not to be such a crank with the kids."

In the wee hours of the morning, Caroline climbed into bed with us, hence the reason I went without any affection this morning. She's also a thrasher, so our sleep wasn't the best.

Our children are blissfully peaceful right now. They have their backs to Ana and me, giggling as they watch Disney pabulum. Ana double checks to ascertain they can't see us.

She skims her hand along my length.

"Jesus, baby." My wife can be quite the tease.

"This is mine, Mr. Grey. Tucker these kids out, so we can put them to bed early."

"I love our spawn, Mrs. Grey, but right now I wish it were just the two of us." I nuzzle my wife's neck, drawing in a sample of her sweet fragrance.

"I share your frustration. You know I'm not keen on these quarterly spa and shopping days, but the last one I attended was back in January. Gwen and Ros threatened kidnapping if I didn't acquiesce."

"Baby, the kids and I will be fine." I lie again, hoping Ana doesn't see my uncertainty. "Go. I don't want you to be late."

Gail and Taylor are off this weekend, but I have Ryan and Reynolds with me. Sawyer will accompany Ana on her spa/shopping jaunt.

Ryan, Reynolds, and Sawyer are in the kitchen enjoying coffee, probably trying to figure out how to negotiate a pay raise. They certainly deserve one, having to endure the Grey Family Circus. Every so often their duties cross over into child care, and though they insist it's not a problem, they shouldn't be burdened with extra duties.

"I love you, Mr. Grey." Ana runs her hands up and down my back, holding me close.

"And I love you, Mrs. Grey." I turn her back to my front. I reach my arms around her, spending a moment to rub our baby bump and kiss her neck. Ana relaxes against me, and releases a sigh of pleasure.

"I could call Mia or Kate to cancel. I want to stay home," she whines.

"I'd agree to that, but I'd face Ros's wrath on Monday. And Bandi and Kate will be at the Heart Association luncheon on Thursday. They'll slam me with a double ration of shit. Nope, you need to go."

I reluctantly release Ana. She lavishes the children and me with kisses, tosses out promises of being home soon, and then vanishes out the front door, leaving me with our little Greys.

"Daddy, I love you. You're the best daddy in the whole world. Can we go out on the boat today? I really wanna go. Pleeeez." Four-year-old Maggie has already mastered the rudiments of negotiation. She stands ramrod straight, hands on hips, tossing her red hair dramatically. Maggie is a distinguished graduate of the Mia Grey School of Charm. She'll be the death of me.

"Up," Caroline, age two, pulls at my pants leg. She is Ana's mini-me. I scoop her up with one arm, and hold her close. She leans into my chest, and tucks her head against my shoulder. Her breakfast this morning was a single bite of toast and a sippy cup of milk. Like her mother, she doesn't eat nearly enough.

"It's too cold for the boat," Ray argues. "I wanna go to Boeing for another tour. Or we can go to the airport and watch planes take off and land." Our six-year-old enjoys taking things apart and putting them back together. Every time we board the helicopter or jet, Ray declares ownership. I can see Ray getting his pilot's license and driver's license in the same week.

Ryan and Reynolds have joined us, listening in to learn our plans.

"Boring," declares Ted. "What about the Children's Museum or maybe the Aquarium?" Ted is the serious, soulful one. He shares my love for the piano, and he inherited my eidetic memory. My mother says he's the one most like me, though he's far more loquacious than I ever was.

While I'm trying to decide whether or not to flip a coin, my phone pings. It's a text from Ros, reminding me she's occupied with spa day, giving me a heads-up that Mrs. Stein from accounting is sending spreadsheets on a proposed acquisition in Singapore. This is time sensitive, as the acquisition team is awaiting my input.

I've made changes at GEH, changes that were designed to take pressure off me, and facilitate my work/family balance. I hired Jake Symonds as CFO and designated Ros as COO. But Jake is currently recovering from a car accident, so Ros and I are back in our old roles for the time being. Ros is taking a fucking spa day, and now it falls to me to entertain four children and perform my duties as CEO at the same time.

"Dammit."

My children are wide-eyed, bracing themselves for more expletives, I do believe. Well, today I'll try not to give them a show. I'm already bankrupting myself with the swear jar. It hasn't escaped my notice that I'm the primary contributor. Ana's only donated twice, and both times her water had broken.

"What's wrong?" Ted asks.

"Work." This is one word all four understand well. Work is what takes their father away from them.

"Grey House, sir?" Reynolds asks.

My children are expecting a special day with their father. I need to work, but I can't let them down. The screen on my phone is large enough for me to pull up what I need.

"No. We need to find a place where the kids will be entertained, and I can sit on my phone for a while."

"I have a suggestion, sir," Ryan offers. "My sister, Bree, takes her kids to Target and lets the merchandise babysit her kids. All her friends do it, too. Bree sits on the floor and chills with social media, while the kids run up and down the toy aisle. And right now, there are Halloween decorations and costumes on display. My nieces and nephews go crazy over that shit..er…stuff."

Now it's Ryan's turn to stuff a bill or two into the swear jar.

"Please, Daddy, please," my three older children jump up and down, pleading all at once. Caroline joins in, grabbing my face in her hands and nodding her head enthusiastically.

"Mommy and I love Target. It's our favorite place." Maggie tells me.

"Does Mommy go there often?" I ask.

"I need to tell you something." Ted beckons me with a crook of his index finger. I know this means he wants to share a secret, so I shift Caroline to my hip and lower us to Ted's level.

"Go ahead, son."

"Mom spends lots of money there. Like all the money you have," Ted cups my ear and whispers, not wanting his siblings to know what a spendthrift their mother is. I stifle a laugh. Ted takes his hands away and shifts his voice to its normal volume. "She likes Target a lot, and I mean a lot. But it's been a while since she's taken all of us."

"It's fun," Ray tries to assure me.

Well, I'm not assured. Will two CPOs be enough for this outing?

I've heard Ana mention Target, but she rarely spends money and doesn't care much for shopping, so I think the children must be confused about the frequency of her visits. I've never visited Target before, but if my wife has been spending 'all the money,' I need to check it out. Reconnoiter, as it were.

"Target, it is. Let's get ready. Everybody use the potty and we'll meet here in five minutes."

The older three bound up the stairs, Ted and Ray in a race to the top that I pray won't end in blood or tears.

Caroline is toilet training, and needs a bit of assistance and encouragement, so I tend to her. I grab Caroline's bag, checking to make sure there are plenty of wipes and pull-ups.

With all things children, Taylor was right. Two is one, one is none. I've learned this the hard way, much to my chagrin and Ana's amusement. I used to grouse about how much she packs for our children, but I'll never again complain.

As they board the van, my little Greys are cheerful cherubs. Their morning gloom is gone, and they chatter excitedly about our shopping adventure.

As I check to make certain they are securely fastened in their seat belts, I admire my bright, intelligent, spirited children. I think how proud I am of them. These little humans are special gifts from my beautiful wife, wondrous products of our love, and each is more perfect than I could have ever imagined.

I laugh out loud, as Reynolds turns onto Lake Washington Boulevard.

"What's so funny?" Ted asks.

"When I first met your mother, I didn't want to be a father. But now I can't imagine a world without you guys. I love you all. Very, very much."

"We love you, too, Dad," Ted replies in earnest.

"You're the best daddy ever," Maggie says.

"Ever. In the whole universe," Ray adds.

So much love. Yep, I smell a set-up.

We have a customized mini-bus with built-in car seats and tinted windows for privacy. There's seating for fifteen. Ana initially thought the vehicle was too large, but there have been many times we've filled it. With our large extended family and security, this van has been a godsend.

"Look, Daddy. Target!" Caroline shouts and points. She can't read, but she certainly recognizes the Target bullseye logo.

Perhaps Ana really does make frequent visits to Target. The thought pleases me. I want her to indulge herself, even if it is only a discount store.

Caroline pushes against me, struggling to get out of my arms as we approach the rows of shopping carts. The carts are a filthy proposition, nothing I want my children touching. Ryan saves the day, wiping down one of the carts with antibacterial cloths.

There's much debate about where to go first, the Halloween section or toys, and before I know what's hit me, I'm dragged to a display of plastic light-up pumpkins.

Maggie skips her way to the end of the aisle and quickly dons a witch hat and broom.

"Take off the hat, Mags," I order. She complies immediately, but looks quite forlorn.

"What's the problem?" Ray asks me, confused.

"These costumes have probably been handled by hundreds of customers. You could catch lice, or maybe even something worse." My explanation makes little impression on my children. They look at me as if I have three heads.

"What are lice?" Ray asks.

"Little bugs," Ted tells his brother.

"Ew." Maggie turns back to look at the hat she had been wearing.

"Don't worry, Mags. The hat won't hurt you. Just last week Mom took us to Nordstrom to try on winter hats and gloves. Remember? Mom wouldn't let us do something dangerous." Ted pats my arm reassuringly. "It'll be okay, Dad. Really."

Ted is very intuitive. He seems to understand my quirks and foibles, and he never holds them against me. He's just like his mother in that way.

Sometimes my OCD merges with my need to protect my family. I count to ten and take a deep breath. I want my children to be normal, to be relaxed in a way that I never was. Thank God for Ana's maternal instincts.

"Very well. You kids entertain yourselves. Daddy's got to work. Stay with Ryan and Reynolds."

I watch as Ryan lifts Caroline from the cart. Satisfied that my security team has my children well in hand, I open up the spreadsheets.

A little over an hour later, I push send on the e-mail to the acquisitions team. This hasn't been a bad place to work. I propped myself up against a big spider themed cushion and got it done. I was vaguely aware of the movement of shoppers and store workers, but it was fairly quiet.

I find my children happily playing with the merchandise. Ryan stands nearby as Maggie and Ray run past a corpse inside a coffin. It's fitted with a motion detector, and each time they pass, the shriveled figure sits up and says boo.

"We need this, Daddy," Ray asserts.

"Didn't you recently complete a school project on the differences between wants and needs? Are you certain this is a need?"

"We need this, because I want it," Ray says. I need to do some research on Seattle Prep. Obviously their instruction is lacking. "We want a Halloween party, and we need this for decoration."

"Aren't you attending a Halloween party with your cousins at your grandparents' house?" A few years ago my parents started an annual Halloween tradition for their grandchildren. It's become something the entire family looks forward to each year.

"Yeah, but we want our very own party. We wanna surprise Mommy when she gets home," Maggie adds.

"A party just for the six of us?" I ponder the idea. "I like it. Let's find Ray and Caroline. They can help us shop."

We find them two aisles over, looking at Halloween costumes.

Caroline has a death grip on a blue princess gown. There's a tiny sparkly tiara in a plastic bag attached to the tags. I reach for the hanger to check the size, but Caroline won't let go.

"Sir, it should fit," Reynolds assures me. "And even if it doesn't, there's no parting of Miss Caroline and that outfit."

"Dad, what if we all got new costumes?" Ted rifles through a rack of Star Wars attire, and stops at Han Solo. "I like this one."

These are cheaply made, not nearly as nice as the costumes Ana makes.

"Please," Ray implores. "We should surprise Mommy with new costumes. She loves costumes."

If only these children really knew how much their mother loves to play dress up. Our private cosplay parties give me life. I need to dig through our stash and find Ana's red hooded cape. I feel a need to play big, bad wolf again.

"Sure, why not? Yes, we'll all get costumes. I'll see if I can find something for Mommy and me."

The selection here isn't great, but I choose a pirate costume for myself and a wench getup for Ana. The wench dress is low-cut, high-waisted, and should accommodate our baby bump. Yes, this pirate-wench combination definitely has playtime possibilities.

Maggie wants a Wonder Woman costume, but we can't find one in her size. She can't hide her disappointment.

"You've no choice, but to compromise," I say. Her eyes narrow and she lets out a deep, loud sigh. Her arms are folded across her chest. "What about this Belle costume? You know how much I love your red hair, and yellow shows it off. This is a perfect choice. Belle is smart and loving and beautiful, just like you."

Maggie graces me with a sweet smile, and relaxes her stance.

"Hmmm." She steps back to evaluate the costume, as I hold up the hanger and turn it, so she can view both the front and back. "Yes, Daddy, I like it."

And just like that, my little Mags is happy again.

Ray zeroes in on a Spiderman suit. He holds it against his body, looking down at it, so proud of his choice. I check the sizing and put it in the cart. If I allowed him, he'd strip down right here in the middle of the store and put it on. Since toddlerhood, Ray has loved nothing more than tearing off all his clothes and running around the house naked. After many hours in time out, he's finally learned the limits of propriety.

"Okay, we've got costumes. Now it's time to split up and do some serious shopping. Each of you has an assignment."

"I like assignments," Ted says with enthusiasm. This is a child who begs his teacher for extra math homework.

"Ray, take Reynolds with you. You're in charge of decorations. Get that coffin you like so much, lights, pumpkins, whatever you think we'll need. Just don't go too crazy. It should all fit in one cart.

"Ted, food is the most important element of a party. Take Ryan and pick out a nice assortment. Try to choose healthy things. Easy on the candy and chips." Ted is quite sensible, but if he tries to load up with junk, Ryan will rein him in.

"Mags, we need paper goods and table decorations. Caroline and I will help you with that. We'll meet at the front of the store at eleven. Let's go."

Having only been on Earth for a mere four plus years, Maggie hasn't yet mastered the concept of color and pattern coordination. She wants orange and green pumpkin plates, a lacy black plastic spider tablecloth, purple and gold witch cups, bat napkins, and an enormous silver skeleton centerpiece.

Gaudy, thy name is Maggie. I'll need a blindfold this evening, just to avoid the garish color scheme.

Attempts to guide Maggie toward a unified theme are fruitless. She's not having it. When she bites her lower lip and tears spring forth, I give up. This is her task, and it should be fun. My need for control is stifling her confidence and creativity.

"I was wrong. I apologize," I say, wiping away her tears with my handkerchief. "Look at me, Mags. Daddy's very sorry. Pick out whatever you want."

Maggie brightens, and loads up the cart with her selections, then glances at Caroline and frowns.

"Caroline looks bad," she tells me.

I'm the worst dad in the world. How did I not notice? Caroline's eyes are droopy and her face is flushed. I touch her forehead and it's too warm.

"Daddy needs to get you home." I text Ryan and Reynolds to meet us up front. I shove all the paper goods to the front of the cart, and plop Maggie inside. She proudly cradles the silver skeleton in her arms.

We make our way to the front at a brisk pace. Caroline slumps forward a bit. As soon as we reach the cash registers, I lift her from the cart and hold her to me.

"Daddy, look what we got." Ray beams with excitement and points at the heap in his cart. A tombstone and skull are on top.

"Good job, buddy. We'll have fun setting all that up."

"What's wrong with her?" Ray asks, nodding toward his baby sister.

"I don't know. We need to get her home."

Suddenly I feel Caroline heave against my chest. It's a strange sensation. I look down at my baby girl, and she looks up. Her lips quiver, and then it happens.

She throws up.

It's a spectacular mess. Warm, slimy vomit drips down my chin, my sleeves, my shirt.

It's all over Caroline, too. I push sticky brown curls from her face.

Maggie squeals, and I hear her scrambling around in the cart.

No need to call for a clean up at register six, because the mess is all over the two of us. How did a bite of toast and a few teaspoons of milk produce all this?

"Ew," Ted groans. "Gross. Everybody's looking at us."

"Son, don't ever worry about what other people think. Ryan, could you take the carts and check out? Reynolds, please take us home, drop us off, and then swing back here for Ryan."

The ride home is quiet. Reynolds lowers the front windows, pops the back windows, and turns on the fans. The older three pull their shirts up over their faces, like masks. The sour stench of Caroline's puke is almost overwhelming.

When we roll up the circular drive to the front door, the kids can't get out of the van fast enough.

"We'll have lunch as soon as I get your sister cleaned up. Go to the bathroom and wash your hands. Then set the table for lunch."

I race Caroline to the bathroom and undress her. She sits on the potty and takes care of business, while I run a bath for her.

My clothes are a disaster. I strip down to my boxers and decide I should launder our barf drenched clothing as soon as possible. I hope the instructions are still posted next to the machines. Gail did that for me a couple of years ago, when Ana was away on a business trip with Bandi and Kate.

"Dwink," Caroline says. I offer her sips of water from a paper cup. I'm relieved when she keeps it down. I help with her teeth. She only runs the toothbrush over the top incisors, so I do the rest.

She's half asleep as I wash her hair and bathe her. After a fresh pull-up and nightgown, I blow dry her hair.

"Do you feel better, sweetheart?" I ask, kissing the top of her head, and enjoying her sweet baby scent.

"Better," she nods.

I carry Caroline to her room, and she's asleep before I lay her down. I tuck her under the pink and gray quilt, making sure she has her stuffed elephant. I kiss her forehead, hoping she always knows how much she is loved.

After a quick shower, I rush downstairs to check on my older three. It's been very quiet downstairs.

Apparently, Ryan and Reynolds have already served lunch to my brood, because I see Ryan wiping up the kitchen island, while Reynolds loads the dishwasher. These chores aren't in their job descriptions, but they always go above and beyond.

"Please leave the kitchen to me. I'll get the kids to help," I say.

"Sir, it's no problem and only takes a couple of minutes," Ryan says.

"Thank you," I say, grateful to have their help.

I find my eldest three in the family room. The bags from Target are spread out and my children are enjoying themselves, giggling and playing, as they paw through our purchases.

"Let's get to work," I tell them. "We don't know when your mother will be home and we need to be ready. Who'll help me hang the lights?"

* * *

 **Anastasia**

"It's four o'clock, time to go home," I tell my friends.

"No," Mia whines. "Everyone else has agreed. You haven't been out with us in such a long time. C'mon, cocktails at the Polar Bar and dinner at Juno."

"No promises. Let me check in at home," I tell her.

We're at Pacific Place, shopping for nothing in particular, a practice which has always irritated me. Shopping should always be done with a list and a purpose.

I find a quiet corner and call Christian's cell.

"Where are you?" That's my man. He gets right to the point.

"Hello, my darling. We're in Barney's. Anything you need?"

"No, but please buy something for yourself."

"Actually I may come back here by myself next week. There's a maternity shop next door, and I'm feeling awfully big for so early in my pregnancy. I think it's time to retire all my old maternity clothes, freshen up my look."

"You look beautiful in anything, but I'm always pleased when you spend money on yourself."

"The girls have made dinner plans for Juno, but your sweet talk makes me want to go home. I'll have Sawyer drive me back."

"As much as I want you here, I think you should stay out until dark. You'll understand when you get home."

"A surprise? I'm intrigued."

"Yes, a special surprise."

"After dark, Mr. Grey."

"Stay safe, Mrs. Grey. I love you."

"And I love you," I say, wishing I were home with my man and our children.

XXXXXXX

Because Bandi and I are both pregnant, we sip non-alcoholic apple-green tea cocktails. Mia, Kate, Ros, and Gwen are sharing a bottle of cabernet. My eyes land on a life-sized light up polar bear in the corner of the bar, and I think how much my children would like it.

"Ana, look at this," Mia says. "Twitter and IG have gone crazy over Christian. Apparently he took the kids to Target."

"I gotta see this." Ros grabs the phone. She holds it out for Gwen, and they throw their heads back, cackling over what they see. "Caroline threw up on Christian. Poor baby. We shouldn't laugh, but seeing Christian with all that barf is kinda funny."

"Holy crap." I snatch the phone from Ros. "I just talked to him half hour ago, and he said nothing about Caroline being sick."

All the pictures were taken late morning, before lunch.

"Hey, I want my phone back," Mia says. "I need to see more."

Bandi and Kate have their phones out now, scouring social media for photos.

"You know he'd call," Kate says. "I'm sure everything is fine."

She's right, but I text Christian anyway.

 **What happened with Caroline? Is she okay? There are pictures online.**

A photo pops up. All four children are smiling, happy, well.

 **She's fine, baby. I've got everything under control. Have fun.**

I look back at the Target photos. What possessed him to take the kids there? They must have asked to go, because I can't imagine Christian initiating a Target run. I'm sad for having missed the experience.

The photos are hashtagged: #hotdaddy #ChristianGrey #DILF #bemybabydaddy #hotsecurity.

He's my DILF, my hot baby daddy, and bitches better step off.

"Let's eat," I say. I need to get home.

XXXXXXX

It's a bit early for the timer to kick in, but the spot lights are all on at the front of the house. The front porch has a life size witch propped up on one of the kids' red metal wagons. The face is pinched and drawn, reminding me of someone.

Ah, yes. The Bitch Troll.

If Elena Lincoln weren't already dead, I'd kill her, and leave her propped up on the porch. She'd make the perfect mummified witch.

"Hello," I call out from the dark foyer.

My eyes adjust and I follow a faint glow to the family room. Eerie sounds greet me at the entrance, and I hear Maggie's giggle from behind the sofa. Strings of Jack-o'-lantern lights outline the perimeter of the room.

"Where can my family be? Oh, dear. It's so spooky in here, and I'm all alone."

Mags giggles again. She can't contain herself.

"Hello," I call out again for my family. "I'm so frightened, and I can't find my family."

"Boo!" They call out, jumping from their hiding places. Christian turns on a lamp.

They're all in costume, including Christian, who is one hella hot pirate. That eye patch makes him look so dangerous and mysterious. We'll be having all kinds of fun after the children are in bed.

"Happy Halloween, baby," he says, greeting me with a hug and a kiss.

'What's all this?" I ask.

"It's our family party," Ray says, taking my hand.

"Do you like it?" Ted asks, eager for my reaction.

"I love it. This is the best party ever." Being an only child, I missed out on moments like this. I'm so grateful for my wonderful life.

"I'm Belle. I'm the beauty." Maggie's curls swing, as she twirls in her costume.

"Yes, Mags. You are a beauty." Her copper locks shimmer under the lights.

"And how are you?" I bend down to give Caroline a hug. A tiara sits atop her brown waves.

"Good," she says. "We go Target."

"Is that where you got all these lovely decorations?" I step toward a coffin and a ghoulish figure sits up, startling me. I can't help but squeal, and this makes my children very happy, provoking gales of laughter.

"After hearing how you spend all our money at Target, I had to check it out." Christian wraps his arms around me from behind. "Have you been keeping secrets from me?"

"Maybe," I tell him. "You certainly did a good job of keeping this party a secret. Thank you, all of you, for the wonderful surprise."

My heart swells at all the thought and planning my family put into this celebration.

"We've got monster mash music," Ray says. "I wanna dance with you, Mommy."

No one on earth has children as precious as ours.

As if he can read my thoughts, Christian kisses the top of my head, and whispers, "Thank you, baby."

"Mom, put your costume on." Ted hands me a Target bag. "It goes with Dad's. You two are a matching set."

"Yes, we are," I tell Ted. "Dad and I are definitely a match."

XXXXXXX

 **Thank you for reading. Your reviews and kind words are my pay day.**


	21. U is for Us

**U is for Us**

 **Thursday, April 15, 2021**

 **Anastasia**

It's nine o'clock and I've finally got the kids down. I'm exhausted, and the twins will need to nurse again in another three hours. This is Mommy-Daddy time.

"Mrs. Grey, will you join me for a nightcap?"

"Yes. Sleepytime tea, please."

"Way to live on the edge," Christian chides. "I'll join you."

He puts the kettle on, and leans against the counter, pulling me with him. My weight presses against his core. He's my comfort. We hold each other in silence.

The kettle whistle and front door bell simultaneously startle us from our serenity.

"I'll fix the tea, while you get the door," I say. Only family and close friends like Raj, Bandi, Ros, and Gwen know the gate code, but no one visits without calling first, and certainly not late in the evening.

Voices and footsteps approach, and I quickly recognize Mia's sounds.

When I see her, I can tell something is off. Christian frowns in concern.

"What's going on?" I ask.

"Oh, Ana, I'm confused." Mia throws her arms around me in her typical dramatic fashion.

"Christian and I were just about to have tea. How about you? Tea always makes things better."

"Yes. Thank you."

"Sit down and tell us everything." Christian pulls out a stool at the kitchen island for Mia, and sits next to her.

"I think Ethan is going to propose."

"Oh, Mia," I throw my arms around her. "That's so exciting."

"I found his Grandmother Aggie's ring in his coat pocket, along with a receipt for having it resized. This is what I've wanted for years," she says. "At least it's what I thought I wanted. But now that it's a real possibility, I'm in a panic."

"Why panic?" Christian asks, sitting down next to Mia at the island.

"I don't know if I can be everything he needs. I don't know if I can be a wife."

"We all struggle with that," I tell her. "I worried the same thing when I married Christian."

"You did?" Mia asks in disbelief.

"I felt the same way about being a husband," Christian says.

"I'm thirty-two and Ethan is thirty-five. We're set in our ways."

"Nonsense," Christian says. "Think of all the changes you've made in the last few years. You're a very adaptable person. And Ethan is a therapist. Your ages and experiences should be an advantage to both of you. If any two have the promise of success, it's you and Ethan."

"It's you two who are the role models for marriage," Mia says. "I don't think any of us were sure of what to expect from the two of you, but your marriage has been good from the start."

"You never saw our disagreements," I say, unable to stifle my giggle.

"Or my meltdowns," Christian adds.

I serve the mugs of tea to Christian and Mia.

"Any advice?" Mia asks, then takes a long sip.

"The meltdowns were partially my fault," I admit. "Be careful what you say to Ethan. Once you say something, you can't take it back. Early on, I took issue with Christian's protective ways, and I threatened to pack up and move back to Montesano. It was a stupid, empty threat."

"Baby, you sent me into a tailspin. I thought you were abandoning me." I recall Christian's panic and I feel shame over it.

"I know, and I still get upset with myself when I remember that. I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago. We're way past that, baby." Christian reaches across the quartz countertop for my hand.

"You two have always had such an intense attraction for one another," Mia says. "Is that the key? Because I don't know if Ethan and I have something that powerful."

"Our strong chemistry has helped us," I concede. Christian gives me a wink. "Attraction is important, but it really takes a high level of acceptance and commitment for a successful union. You and Ethan started off as friends, and that makes for a stable foundation."

"We've always gotten along well," Mia says, "and living together for the past two years has been amazing. I just don't want anything to change."

"Things will change," I tell her. "Especially if you have children. But your love for each other doesn't have to change."

"What's the secret to keeping the love? You're the aspirational couple, the couple everyone talks about. There must be some secret."

"There is no secret, no magic formula. Here's what I know," Christian offers. "From our early mistakes, Anastasia and I learned to choose us. Sometimes 'us' intersects with 'me,' but much of the time it doesn't. Compromise means neither person gets everything they want, but they do get each other. In every situation, Anastasia and I choose us. Over everyone and everything, it's always us."

"I don't know why you're so spooked," I tell Mia. "You're brave, fierce, and strong. You can do anything. You took down Elena and saved my life. Look at how you've built your clientele and how you turned your finances around. Ethan has always been your one true love, and he's choosing you. Clearly he thinks you'll make the perfect wife. You're everything he wants and needs."

Mia takes a sip of tea and closes her eyes for a moment, considering what we've told her.

"This ring just came out of the blue. We've never talked about marriage in anything but abstract terms. I saw the ring tonight and I panicked. Ethan thinks I'm at Bartell's picking up Tampax and Listerine. I need to get back home. And maybe he's not really going to propose, and I've just gotten worked up for nothing."

"Or maybe he is," Christian says. "Did you know Ethan had lunch with Dad yesterday?"

"No." Mia's mouth drops open in surprise.

"I talked to Dad right after, and he was in an exceptionally good mood. Maybe Ethan asked for Dad's blessing. For what it's worth, Ana and I have always thought you and Ethan would make a good match. In any case, you'll be fine."

"I'm sure you're right. Thank you," Mia says. She takes a final gulp of tea and stands to give each of us a hug. "I love you both. I better go."

Christian walks her to the door, while I tidy up.

I consider Mia's case of jitters. She's treating marriage with the gravity it deserves, and I regard this as a sign of her hard-fought maturity. Her spoiled ways are gone, and she's grown into a woman of depth and independence.

When Christian returns to the kitchen, he's laughing.

"You're golden, baby, but when did I become qualified to give marital advice?"

"We're coming up on ten years, so I think you definitely know a thing or two. You certainly know how to keep me very happy."

I close the dishwasher door and Christian hits the start button.

"Did you hear what Mia said? Aspirational couple. Role models for marriage. I'm proud of us." My husband's grey eyes shimmer with love and happiness.

"Me too," I say, flipping off the kitchen lights.

Christian scoops me into his arms, exactly the way he did when he first carried me across the threshold years ago. He's done this countless times since, and it always makes me feel cherished.

"Come along, my beauty, time for bed."

 **XXXXXXX**

 **Thank you for the faves, follows, and reviews. They are my payday!**


	22. V is for Valentine

**V is for Valentine**

 **Thursday, February 14, 2013**

 **Anastasia**

"Good job, Teddy Bear," I say.

I watch as my son keeps his food on his high chair tray for the third day in a row. For the past two months, he has put up a fuss, insisting on complete self-feeding. Along with that, most of his food has ended up on the floor.

This morning he's enjoying his breakfast of scrambled eggs, banana slices, and cut up waffle. I'm still nursing him twice a day, when he wakes and at bedtime.

My phone rings, but it's not Christian's ring tone.

I'm feeling more than a little sorry for myself, waking up all alone on Valentine's Day.

"Hello," I answer.

"Damn, girl. What's wrong with you?" Mia laughs.

"It's Valentine's Day, and my husband is out of town."

"Where is he?"

"Venezuela. Something about falling oil prices. Ros was scheduled to go, but her dad is having health problems, so Christian stepped in."

"Why didn't you and little boy blue eyes go with him?"

I only work two or three days a week at the station, producing special segments for Bandi, but Christian's trip coincided with some important production meetings.

"Work obligations. I miss Christian terribly, especially today. Last year was our first Valentine's Day and I was ginormous, with swollen ankles and a backache. We stayed home. This was going to be our first real celebration."

"Sorry, sweetie. That sucks monkey balls. I'll be happy to come over and keep you and Teddy company tonight."

"Why aren't you celebrating with Ned tonight?"

"Jed. His name was Jed. I broke it off with him."

"Why? He seemed like a nice enough guy." Actually, the guy was a snooze, so forgettable that I forgot his name.

"He was a good guy, but he couldn't go downtown worth a shit. Honestly, it's a basic skill, and there's no excuse for any man to be so lame."

"Agreed. I don't blame you for tossing Ned-Jed aside. Oral skills are essential to a fulfilling relationship."

Oh, crap. Did I just say that out loud to my sister-in-law?

"Glad to know my brother takes good care of you. How 'bout I take you to the Kit-Kat tonight? They're having a special Valentine's night for singles. I bet Mom would be happy to watch Teddy."

Teddy smashes the banana slices, scoops the mash into his mouth, and then giggles. He's an adorable mess. Watching our son's antics makes me miss Christian all the more.

"I'm sure Grace and Carrick have their own plans. And I'm not single, so that would be completely inappropriate. You go. Have fun and call me tomorrow. Tell me all about it."

"Sure thing. I never told you the reason for my call. I received the invitation to Teddy's birthday party, and of course I'll be there. What's the theme?"

"Circus animals. Since it's his first birthday, we're keeping it simple and low-key. I'm baking chocolate cupcakes, and decorating with sprinkles and animal crackers. Please don't go overboard with gifts. Teddy already has so much."

Mia cackles so loudly, I have to pull the phone away from my face.

"Telling this family not to spoil Teddy is like telling us not to breathe. It's gonna happen, Ana, get over it."

"Fine. Happy Valentine's Day. Have fun tonight."

I wipe Teddy's face and hands, and remove his bib.

"Teddy Bear, let's go outside and play. I think fresh air might improve my mood." I pull our jackets from the mud room hooks, and bundle us up. It's a tad chilly out, fifty degrees according to my phone's weather app.

"I miss Daddy. Can you say daddy?" I've been coaching Teddy for weeks now. I got the first smile, and I'd like for Christian to get some firsts.

Teddy gives me a short _a_ sound. He's trying to say it.

"Daddy, daddy, daddy," I say, as we go down the slide. "Let's practice, so we can say Daddy's special name."

Teddy says the short _a_ sound again.

Teddy recognizes the meaning of daddy, because when I announce 'daddy is home,' he gets excited in recognition of his father.

When I pop Teddy into his swing, and give him a gentle push, he squeals with joy. I imagine for a moment what this play area will be like filled with children. Our children, Christian's and mine, along with nieces and nephews, friends. This area was designed to be a noisy, busy place.

I was right to come out here with Teddy. This spot always improves my mood. I give Teddy another little push.

"Weeeeee," I say, fueling Teddy's pleasure. I'm rewarded with giggles.

Teddy smiles and looks over my shoulder, making happy babbles.

It's Gail and Sawyer.

"Ana, come inside. Flowers arrived," Gail says. "And even though Mr. Grey can't be here, he's planned something special. I'll watch Teddy, and Sawyer will take you where you need to go."

"And where would that be, Sawyer? Where are you taking me?" I ask.

"I don't know, but there's a large envelope explaining Mr. Grey's plan for your day." Sawyer and Gail exchange knowing smiles.

"You two are in cahoots with my husband. Let's go." I give Teddy a hug and a kiss. "Be good for Gail. I'll be back soon."

"Gail put the flowers and envelopes in the master bedroom," Sawyer tells me as we enter the house. "When you're ready to go, I'll be waiting in the kitchen."

Two dozen white roses are on my nightstand and two large white envelopes are on my pillow.

The envelopes are numbered. I open the first one, and find a message written in Christian's hand. He must have done all this before he left, but how did he find time?

The card has a message on both sides. One side has the GEH logo, so I surmise that must be the front.

 **Open the closet. In the very front, you'll find a red dress. Put it on.**

 **When you're finished dressing, flip over this card.**

I find the dress, a beautiful brick red knit. I change into the dress as quickly as I can, so I can get back to Christian's message.

I flip over the card.

 **Here's a link to one of our favorite songs. Dance to it in front of a mirror. Send me the vid.**

 **After you press send, open the second envelope.**

The song is "Red Dress" by MAGIC! The original version is good, but the Christian Grey cover does things to me.

I dance my heart out and send Christian the footage. I expect a response, but don't get one. Must be the time difference or a meeting. He's a busy man.

 **When you're decked out in the new dress, ready to go, find Sawyer. Tell him to take you to the Pacific Place spot where we shopped the first day we met. When you get there, ask for another envelope.**

A light application of makeup will do. I curl the ends of my hair, just the way Christian likes it. He may not be physically present, but we're together in spirit.

I scramble around, find my chocolate brown Louboutins, diamond studs, and Burberry trench. I never take long to get ready, but this must be an all time record.

Sawyer seems surprised when I direct him to Tiffany at Pacific Place, so I don't think he's in on Christian's plan.

Mr. Delancey, the store manager, seems to have expected my arrival.

"Mrs. Grey, please join me in my office. Mr. Grey has something for you."

Sawyer and I follow Mr. Delancey to a small office, where Delancey hands me a envelope. It matches the ones I read earlier.

 **Mia once called me your "ball and chain," claiming I never let you have any fun. I hope that's not true, but just in case, I found the perfect gift.**

Delancey hands me a blue Tiffany box. Inside is a matching necklace and bracelet, yellow gold. The chain links are bold, square and hanging from each piece are two small charms, a ball and a padlock.

Could my man be any more adorable? I love the humor and whimsy behind the pieces, and I can't wait to put them on.

"They're lovely on you, Mrs. Grey," Delancey says. Sawyer, ever my husband's proxy, gives Delancey a hard, cold look. "I meant nothing untoward, ma'am."

"Thank you, Mr. Delancey. No offense taken."

"There's another envelope," he says. "Have a lovely day."

I wait until we are in the car to open the next envelope.

 **Near Puget Press there is a small shop. Pick up your next package there.**

"Lucette. It's a boutique two doors down from Puget Press on Third Avenue."

Christian is taking me on a tour of places from the first day we met. I fell hard for Christian Grey. We've been through so much together in a short time.

Parking is always a terrible problem in this area. The closest parking garage is several blocks away. Sawyer is under strict instructions never to leave me alone. He drives around the block twice, then says, "Fuck this," and pulls to a stop right in front of the Lucette no parking sign.

The shop is smaller than I remember it, but I recognize the clerk from the day I met Christian. There are a couple of middle-aged ladies shopping and an elderly man looking through the rack of greeting cards.

"Mrs. Grey, it's so nice to see you again." What a difference a few billion can make in the way people treat me.

"You remember me? That was almost nearly two years ago."

"Of course I remember. I have to admit the magazine articles helped." She laughs. "There's an envelope and package for you."

I walk away from Sawyer and the clerk to open the message.

 **No need to open the package here. It's an assortment of the lime-basil-mandarin candles we like so much. We'll light every one of them for a bath when I get home.**

That sounds heavenly. I can't wait. I flip the card.

 **I've ordered lunch to go for you and Teddy. Go to our private dining room for pick-up.**

"Thank you," I tell the dark-haired clerk. She gives me the ribbon bedecked box, and I hand it off to Sawyer.

"You're welcome, Mrs. Grey. Please come again."

"Mile High," I tell Sawyer. The club is only blocks away.

Jocelyn, the hostess, is expecting me, and leads me to a table set for one. A wine cooler is on a stand, tableside. Perhaps Christian changed his mind and wants me to have lunch here.

"Does Mr. Grey expect me to dine here? I thought he'd arranged for take out."

"He's arranged for wine and an appetizer, while you wait for the take out. Your waiter today is James, and he'll be right with you."

I think of all the thought Christian put into this Valentine's Day. All I got him was a pair of boxers covered with hearts and a framed portrait of Teddy and me. I really need to step up my game.

Seconds later, James arrives with a plate of oysters.

"Mrs. Grey, your husband has selected a Sancerre and Kumamotos. When your take out is ready, I'll alert Mr. Sawyer." I recognize the combination from my commencement dinner, the evening we fed each other oysters. "Mr. Grey also arranged for special music while you wait."

James uncorks the bottle and pours the wine. It's crisp and refreshing.

"Thank you, James."

I squirt lemon over the oysters. The brine and bright citrus meld with the creamy sweetness of the oyster. I'm reminded of commencement day, our declarations of love. I'm taken back to ocean sojourns, deep kisses, and the taste of my man. Oh, how I long for him.

We've dined often in this room. Maybe that's why I feel his presence right now.

I hear a piano. The depth of sound tells me it's not a recording. It's loud enough that the piano must be nearby. Christian has hired someone to play for me. It's "Song from a Secret Garden," one of my favorites. It's lovely, so beautiful, I must will myself not to cry.

As the piece draws to a close, I'm both bereft and relieved. I don't want the music to stop, but if it were to continue, I fear my mood would take a shattering nose dive.

Blessed silence.

James comes to check on me, refilling my wine glass. I'm on my second glass, and I haven't been here ten minutes.

Pace yourself, Ana. Alcohol is a depressant.

The music begins again.

I recognize the tune. It's another favorite, "My Valentine," by Paul McCartney.

As if on cue, just as I wish I could hear the lyrics, a rich, full baritone kicks the doorway to my heart wide open.

It's him. It's Christian.

When I felt him near, it wasn't just the echo of memory.

I fight the urge to find him.

I listen, as his heart sings to mine.

 _As days and nights_

 _Would pass me by_

 _I tell myself that I was waiting for a sign_

 _Then she appeared_

 _A love so fine,_

 _My valentine_

The music stops, but there are two doors, and I'm not sure which one to take. Out of frustration, I call out for him.

"Christian! Where are you? Christian, please."

A door flies open, and my man's eyes tell me he missed me too.

We are hands and tongues and heat.

A knock at the door brings us to our senses. It's Sawyer.

"We'll be right out," Christian tells him.

"You came home. I missed you so much."

"I needed my Valentine. Baby, will you be mine?"

"Always. You're very good at this hearts and flowers thing. A natural, in fact. A girl could get used to this."

"Oh, Mrs. Grey, if you think I'm good at hearts and flowers, just wait until I dazzle you with my real skills."


	23. W is for Wishbone

**Gentle Reader,** **"O is for Oven" was a glimpse at Thanksgiving preparations after Ana and Christian have Teddy; Ana is pregnant with Blip Two. This short shot, "W is for Wishbone," features Ana and Christian's first Thanksgiving, as they entertain family in their newly remodeled Lake Washington home.**

 **W is for Wishbone**

 **Thursday, November 24, 2011**

 **Anastasia**

"You'll be sitting too far away. I want you right next to me, so I can touch you."

Christian picks up a place card and tosses it back down. He's pouting, and he knows what that does to me.

"You're the host and I'm the hostess. We sit at opposite ends. That's how seating arrangements work."

"At least the photographer won't be here. When I count blessings, that's near the top of the list."

"I hope he's having a good time with Marisol's family. I think he's getting serious about her."

"Poor girl," Christian says. "Hey, why do we only have one turkey? It doesn't look like we have enough food for sixteen people." Christian never thinks there's enough food.

"I prepared a turkey and a ham. We have cornbread dressing, greens, mac and cheese, mashed potatoes. I baked five pies. Mama K is bringing another turkey. Everyone's bringing sides. I promise you, there will be plenty."

"If you say so," Christian pulls back foil and lifts lids surveying my preparations.

"I do say so. I've had so much fun, cooking up a storm. I love my new kitchen."

This kitchen is mine, and I happily share it with Gail. I miss her, but it's tradition that she and Taylor go to her sister's for Thanksgiving. I won't ask them to change things, just because Christian is now married and playing host.

This house is ghost-free. It's mine and Christian's. We bought three lots with three houses. Gail, Taylor, and the rest of security live next door.

On the other side of us is the old Lincoln place. The house has been demolished, and all that's left is the driveway and the iron fencing around the perimeter.

"And I love seeing you in this new kitchen, barefoot and pregnant. Guilty as accused, I'll admit to being a cave man." I slipped my ballet flats off because they were feeling a bit snug. Christian wraps his arms around me from behind.

"I was fifteen when I cooked my first Thanksgiving dinner all by myself. I had so much trouble figuring out how to make it all come together. I burned the dinner rolls. Keep your fingers crossed."

"I'm proud of you for being able to pull this off. And I'm rather proud of us for hosting the family Thanksgiving. Thank you for giving me such a good life."

"That goes both ways," I say. "I can't believe I get to share my life with you."

I turn to face my handsome man, and I give him a deep kiss.

"You taste like cranberry sauce," he tells me.

"Do you like it? I added an orange, zest and all."

"Give me another taste so I can offer a full evaluation. This might involve me sticking my tongue down your throat."

The doorbell rings, and I check the clock. It's already 2 pm, time for our guests to arrive.

"Hold that thought," I tell him.

We open our door to find our Kavanaghs and Greys have arrived at once, and all are bearing gifts of food and drink.

Gram and Gramps Trevelyan are the first to give me hugs. I've gained so much through my marriage to Christian, and on this day of gratitude, his grandparents are near the top of the list.

"I want a house tour," Grace says. "What I can see is lovely. Mia, Kate, and Elliot are the only ones who have seen the place, and now it's our turn."

"I'm impressed." Mama K looks into the great room. "It's beautiful."

"We kept some of the art work, like the Madonnas," I say, pointing to the foyer walls. "The piano and billiards table were also brought over, but everything else is new."

"Drop the food in the kitchen, and I'll give you a tour," Christian offers.

Everyone oohs and ahs over the kitchen.

Kate and Mia stay behind to help me organize the food, while Christian takes everyone on the house tour. There really isn't much to see upstairs. Our room has been done, and a couple of the bedrooms have been turned into guest rooms, but the other bedrooms are empty. The nursery is our next project.

As a special surprise for me, Christian had Elliot finish off the attic. The additional floor space now houses my office, a children's play room, and a craft/sewing room.

The first floor has been opened up so the kitchen/family area is a great room. Christian's study is downstairs, as well the laundry room, a formal living room, and a solarium. We have a formal dining room, where we will gather today, but most of the time we eat at the kitchen island.

Dad and José, Sr. arrive while everyone is on tour. I guide them upstairs, so they can join the group. I feel a bit guilty, because I don't see Dad nearly as much as I did before marriage.

After the tour, Mia and Kate take drink orders and serve everyone. I've got everything warming, and we will soon be ready to eat. I decide to join my guests for a couple of minutes.

"The bedroom turned out beautifully," Mama K says. "Who was your decorator?"

"Christian and I did most of it ourselves. We ordered everything online, just selecting things we both like. We did have a decorator assist us with placement of everything."

"That's an interesting chaise you have in your bedroom," Grace says. "Looks like a nice spot for reading."

Elliot begins to laugh, then Kate and Mia join in. Christian looks supremely uncomfortable.

"Did I say something funny?" Grace looks at Mama K, and they exchange confused looks.

"Grace, dear," Gram says. "Christian and Ana aren't using the chaise as a reading nook. It's a piece of sex furniture."

Dad's eyes bug out, and he gives Christian a burning glare.

Everyone looks at Christian, then back to me. Elliot can barely catch his breath for laughing so hard.

"Mother," Grace scolds. "How do you know about such a special apparatus?"

"The internet. I thought everyone knew these things. If Theo and I were a bit more limber, we'd have one."

"Speak for yourself, dear," Gramps tells Gram.

"It's a versatile piece of furniture," I say, in an attempt to change to subject. "It can certainly be used for reading, as well as for other things. The cocoa brown color goes well with our bedding, don't you think?"

I look to Christian for help, and seeing my distress he gets up and moves to the piano.

"In honor of our new home, I'd like to sing a song for Anastasia." He pats the space next to him on the bench. "Come sit with me, baby."

What a beautiful Thanksgiving surprise. Christian knows what his music does to me.

As Christian begins to play, our baby moves, as if awakened by the sound. I look over to my dad who has now relaxed into the sofa. Hopefully any thoughts of his baby girl draped over a Tantra Chair will soon be forgotten.

The timbre of Christian's rich baritone sends a shiver down my spine. His lovely voice, his musky scent, his warmth. Damn, I'm a horny mess, right here in front of our family.

He's singing Sleeping At Last's "North." It's a sweet, tender ballad and speaks to all the hopes we have for our house on the lake.

 _We will call this place our home_

 _The dirt in which our roots may grow_

 _Though the storms will push and pull_

 _We will call this place our home._

 _We'll tell our stories on these walls_

 _Every year, measure how tall_

 _And just like a work of art_

 _We'll tell our stories on these walls._

Christian's broad hands and long elegant fingers move effortlessly over the keys, and when the last note is played, he kisses my forehead.

There's a round of applause from our family, and more than a few tears. Even Carrick dabs at his eyes with a handkerchief.

"It will only be a few more minutes," I tell our guests. "Christian, could you please help me?"

Christian seems confused, but he dutifully follows me into the kitchen. There's a partial view from the great room to the kitchen, and I pull Christian over to laundry room entrance, where we can't be seen.

I kiss him deeply. I need him and I need him now. I guess it's the pregnancy hormones, but I can't even see straight, I'm so consumed with desire.

"Anastasia, you have that look in your eyes. I'm telling you no."

"Laundry room. Five minutes. You know which buttons to push. You can do this in less than five minutes."

Christian shakes his head.

"Nope. Not gonna do it. Ray Steele will mount my head alongside his deer trophies."

"You vowed to take care of me. I have a need, a need you deliberately stoked with that song. I need your dick and I need it now. You've said it yourself. Bringing me to orgasm requires a three-pronged approach. Oral stimulation, deep kissing, and intercourse with clitoral contact. It's a job. Take care of it."

"No. Your dad is here. I've always been a little bit afraid of him. And if we have a daughter, I hope all the fuckers sniffing around her will be afraid of me. Fear can be a very healthy deterrent."

I stroke Christian's length, and softly cluck like a chicken.

"Dammit, you're not playing fair," he whispers in my ear.

Christian pulls me into the laundry room, and locks the door behind us.

Reaching under my dress, he yanks down my panties. His tongue flicks against my engorged bud. He hums as he gives it a gentle tug with his teeth. He suckles then flicks, moving quickly back and forth between the two movements. Christian knows exactly how I like it, and gives me what I need.

In a blur, Christian's pants and boxer briefs fall around his ankles. I wrap my arms around his neck and he pulls me up, so I can wrap my legs around him. He tilts my pelvis so my clit comes into direct contact with his length as he moves in and out.

My belly isn't big enough to get in the way yet, but it won't be long before we won't be able to assume this position.

Christian's mouth is on mine, and his tongue mirrors each thrust of his hips.

"Oh, God, yes, yes. Chrissss-chun."

My undoing is also his.

"Baby, I'm going to scoot us over to the paper towel holder."

Christian is still inside me and we need to clean up. He walks us carefully to the sink, where I'm able to reach a paper towel. We uncouple and I clean us up.

"Three minutes, thirty-two seconds," he says. "Damn, we're good."

Out of the blue, we're hit by objects falling from the ceiling. A small throw pillow, pieces of clothing, a magazine, a box of Kleenex.

We look up to see we're standing under the laundry chute.

"Oh, oh, Christian. Yes, yes." Elliot's mocking tone and cackle echo down the chute.

"Asshat," Christian says. "One of these days, I'm going to beat the shit out of him."

"No, you won't. He's an asshat, but he's your asshat. How's my hair?"

Christian finger combs my messy locks.

"Perfect, baby, let's get back to our guests."

When we step back into the kitchen, Mama K and Grace are checking on the state of the food.

"We want to help, but we're not sure what needs to be done," Grace says. "Where were you?"

"Laundry room," Christian answers. "Spilled something on my pants. Anastasia tended to it. Those stain sticks work great."

"If you two can help me get the food to the table, it would be a huge help," I tell Grace and Mama K. I turn to Christian. "Could you please invite everyone to the table?"

"Of course," he whispers. "Thank you, baby."

"No, my darling, thank you. You take such good care of me."

Christian kisses the top of my head and gives me flirty wink before he leaves.

I went back and forth about this dinner, debating between buffet or family-style. In the end, I decided we'd pass the dishes around the table. Christian has studied how to carve a turkey, and he's going to do that at the table in front of his family. I'm so proud of him.

Mama K slices the ham, and artfully arranges it on a platter. While I fill the gravy boat, Grace busies herself with the sides, making sure we have everything we need on the table.

At last we're all seated, and with Dad on my right, I reflect on how different this is from our past Thanksgivings. As if reading my mind, he says, "Looks good, Annie."

"Thank you. Will you say the blessing?"

Dad nods and asks the table to bow their heads for grace.

"Lord, thank You for the food before us, the family and friends beside us, and the love between us. Amen."

"Thank you, Ray," Christian says. "While I carve the turkey, why don't you all begin passing the dishes, and share what you're most thankful for."

"You start, bro," Elliot says.

Christian looks a bit uncomfortable, but he takes a deep breath. He points the carving knife at me.

"Anastasia," he says. "I'm most thankful for Anastasia. Baby, everything begins and ends with you."

I blow him a kiss, and he catches it, provoking laughter.

We go around the table, sharing our gratitude. When it's my turn, I reciprocate Christian's sentiment by thanking him for his love and devotion.

The conversation is easy, and I love the way we've chosen to christen our home with the company of family.

"Hey, Chrissy, what did you do with the wishbones?"

"They're in the kitchen, somewhere at the bottoms of the carcasses."

"When we were growing up, you'd never pull the wishbone with me. Let's do it today."

"No, El, wishbones aren't my thing. Never were and never will be."

"Why is that?" Mia asks. "I've always wondered."

Christian shrugs his shoulders.

"Darling, tell us," Grace prods.

"It's nothing really."

"I'm intrigued," Ethan says. "Is it a superstition? What's wrong with wishbones?"

"Nothing," Christian says.

"C'mon, son," Dad insists. "I want to know what my son-in-law has against wishbones."

"Let it go, Dad," I say, sensing Christian reluctance to discuss it.

"C'mon, Chrissy, please tell us," Mia begs.

Christian puts his fork down, and releases a reluctant sigh.

"All my life, before I met Anastasia, I felt undeserving of wishes. And now that I have Anastasia, I have everything I want, and I'm in no need of wishes."

Oh, my sweet, darling man, the things I'm learning.

The table falls completely silent. Even Elliot is speechless.

There are tears, both shed and unshed.

Christian picks up his fork, and continues eating, oblivious to the reaction of our guests.

I break the silence with mention of pies.

"Let's save the pie for after the game," Elliot says. "Banana, I think you and Chrissy should keep the wishbones. Both of you share the same wishes, so no matter which of you gets the big piece, your wish will come true."

Christian gives me a faint smile.

"That's a great thought," I tell Elliot. "We'll do that."

XXXXXXX

"Our first Thanksgiving went well. Don't you think?" I run a brush through my hair. "I think we should host it every year."

"I agree. Thanksgiving has become my new favorite holiday."

"You said that about the fourth of July, Labor Day, and Halloween." I turn my brush on Christian, and run it through the floppy curls at his crown.

"Every holiday is special because of you, baby." He takes the brush away from me and lays it on the bathroom counter.

"And every day is a holiday with you," I tell him. "I have one of the wishbones. Wanna play?"

"Okay," he says with a shrug.

"Another first." I reach behind me and hand him the wishbone. "Make a silent wish."

My wish is for enduring love with my man.

"Ready," he says. "What next?"

"On the count of three we pull. One, two, three."

The bone snaps and Christian has the bigger piece.

"Well done. Now your wish will come true," I tell him.

"It's silly," Christian laughs, "but when you put the wishbone in my hand, I became a believer. Are we allowed to disclose our wish or does that nullify the result?"

Oh, I do love this man.

"I don't think there's a rule," I tell him.

"Good. I wished that we'll always be as happy as we are today."

"Elliot was right," I say. "Your wish is my wish."

Christian pulls me against his warm, hard body.

"Yep, baby. Thanksgiving is my new favorite holiday."

 **XXXXXXX**

 **Thank you for reading and reviewing!**


	24. X is for Xerox

**X is for Xerox**

 **Wednesday, August 7, 2013**

 **Christian**

"Sir, Ms. Bailey had to reschedule the ten o'clock meeting with accounting. It's been moved to one. I'm going down to legal to train Mr. Anderson's new assistant. Is there anything I can get you before I leave?"

"No, thank you," I tell Andrea.

Ros wouldn't reschedule without good reason, but this means I have to cancel lunch with Anastasia.

I look at the latest picture of my wife and son. Anastasia's not showing yet, but she's pregnant with our second. Teddy is a busy toddler, into anything and everything.

 **Sorry, baby, but lunch today won't work. I have a meeting.**

Her response is immediate, and it shocks me.

 **Send me a dick pic. It will help ease my pain.**

We've talked about how stupid people can be, snapping photos of genitalia, when it's all too easy for someone to hack a phone.

 **Baby, I love you, but I'll never do that.**

Anastasia's response is a photo of her cleavage. Her gray silk blouse is unbuttoned and she's practically falling out of the lacy black demi-cup bra.

 **Get yourself good and hard. Xerox that bad boy.** **Courier it to me in a manila envelope. I'm at the station until three.**

I laugh out loud at my wife's audacity. Her public persona is that of a demure and modest woman. One of the things I love about her is how different she is with me. My wife can be a wild woman, and that makes me a very lucky man.

I decide no text response is necessary. Actions before words.

I walk past Olivia to the copy room, but the door is locked. What the hell. I can't get into my own copy room.

"Olivia, why is the copier locked up?"

"The copier in Tech Support is constantly on the fritz. Connie and Lydia keep coming up here to make copies, so Andrea locked it, and told them to try accounting or legal."

"I see. May I have the key?"

"If you need copies, I'll make them for you. Where are your originals?" Olivia looks at my empty hands.

"I forgot them." I walk back into my office, and pick a random file off my desk.

"Give them to me," Olivia says when I return.

"Top secret. Government contract stuff. I'll do it myself."

"Of course, sir." Olivia's face falls in disappointment. "Here's the key. After you turn on the machine, it takes a minute to warm up."

As I turn the key, I discover I'm more than a little titillated by my wife's assignment. I've already got a half chub, and I haven't even opened up my photo stash. This little project has given my day a bit of unexpected excitement.

I've only been in this room a couple of times, just to stick my head in and ask Andrea a question. The Xerox machine is larger than I remember, and I realize I have no idea where to start. There are so many keys and switches that it takes me a moment to spot the on switch. A low hum lets me know I've located the correct button.

While I wait for the machine to warm up, I pull up the photo Anastasia just sent me. I move the image to my private, special folder. My stash now numbers in the hundreds.

I find one of my favorites, a close-up of my wife's mouth. Her lipstick is fire-engine red and she's sucking on her index finger. If someone saw the picture, they might think it was sexy. What they wouldn't know is that the photo was taken right after she sucked me off, and she was licking jizz off her finger.

Damn, now I'm rock hard. It's showtime.

I look around the walls and ceiling, but I don't see anything resembling CCTV equipment. I need to ask Taylor why we don't have cameras in here, but right now I'm happy about the absence of security.

I unfasten my pants and pull everything down. I pull up the plastic cover and plop my rigid dick on the glass top. I push against the machine to make sure I get my entire length in the frame. As I look down, I'm impressed with myself, and I hope Anastasia likes the image she's about to receive.

I can't decide, should I hold the cover down? Or does it matter?

I push copy, and a message flashes across a tiny screen.

 **Tray 2 empty. Please reload.**

My home printer has one tray, but this behemoth has four trays. Which is tray 2? Is it the second one from the top, or the second one from the bottom? And why am I being directed to tray 2? Does it matter which tray I use?

Behind me are shelves of paper in different sizes, colors, and weights. So many artistic choices…I consider which color might best show off my majesty.

White seems too blah.

Pastel yellow or pink…no to both.

Green is always nice. It's the color of money. I look into the package and it's a pale sickly shade of mint.

There's a dark yellow. Goldenrod. I like it. Goldenrod for my golden rod.

I load the paper in the second tray from the top.

 **Fault/Error**

 **Check setting for Tray 2**

For the love of all that's holy, what must I do for one stinking, lousy copy?

I find tray settings and set the size to eight and a half by eleven. Is this card stock? No, I don't think so. Just regular paper, right?

"Sir?" It's Andrea knocking at the door.

I scramble to pull up my pants and adjust myself.

"Sir, is everything okay?"

"Just a minute," I say.

It seems to take forever to arrange my appearance. My erection is now gone, but I use the folder to shield that area.

I haven't done anything wrong, but when I open the door to Andrea, I feel like a total perv.

"Olivia called, said you were making copies. May I help you?"

"Actually, yes. Perhaps you can make certain the paper is loaded correctly."

I step aside, so Andrea can check the settings.

"Looks good, sir, but…goldenrod?"

"What's wrong with goldenrod? I like it."

"Olivia said you're copying classified government documents. I would have selected bright white, but you know best."

"Goldenrod elevates the project, makes it more interesting," I tell her. What the hell am I saying? "Thank you, Andrea. Please go back to legal."

There's nothing here for you, Andrea. Please go.

I do everything but push her from the room.

I get everything in place again, and push copy.

 **Fault/Error**

 **Toner cartridge is empty. Replace toner.**

Fuck me in the heart. All I want is a Xerox dick selfie for my baby.

The shelves have two different stacks of cardboard boxes marked toner, but I'm not sure which one to use. I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing. I've no choice but to turn to Olivia.

"Olivia!" I holler out into the hallway. "Now!"

Thankfully Olivia's quick, or my phone would have ended up in pieces on the floor.

"Sir?" It's been a long time since I've seen a frazzled, wary Olivia.

"The toner cartridge needs replacing. Take care of it."

"Yes, sir."

In less than a minute, Olivia has successfully replaced the toner. She scurries away as I'm saying thank you.

Before I take my pants down again, I decide to do a practice run.

I put my hand down on the glass, and press copy.

Perfect. I think I'll also send this hand selfie to Anastasia. She loves my hands.

Okay. Show time…again.

Door locked. Check.

Pants down. Check.

Spank bank open. Check.

Hard dick. Check.

I place my penis on the glass and press copy.

The machine makes a purr and a whurr and then…nothing.

Absolutely fucking nothing.

The little screen flashes a message.

 **Fault/Error**

 **Paper jam. Misfeed detected.**

 **See diagram.**

Fuck my life.

There's a diagram of the interior workings of the machine, with a blinking light to indicate the location of the jam. I open the front panel of the machine, but I don't see any paper in the area indicated by the diagram.

My pants are still around my ankles. I take baby steps around the machine to see if there are any other panels that allow access. As I turn, I lose my footing and end up on the floor. My knee scrapes against the metal shelving unit, and it hurts like a son-of-a-bitch.

I pull myself up and get dressed again.

I consider calling Olivia to remove the jam, but there's a possibility she might see something undesirable.

I need someone I can trust.

Barney.

I call Barney, who promises to arrive within five minutes.

As I wait, I consider abandoning Anastasia's assignment, but I can't let her down. Come hell or high water, I will produce the image she desires.

I unlock the door and wait for Barney.

"Sir, what can I do for you?" Barney is a bit winded, and I know he rushed on my account.

"What do you know about copiers?" I ask.

"Enough," he says.

"Great, I have a paper jam. Can you find the problem?"

'I'll certainly try," Barney says.

He pokes around the machine. Barney finds another panel, and checks a different area. Then he gets on the floor. Barney's a slob, even on a good day. He's wearing a wrinkled button-down shirt and rumpled pants. I notice there are no socks with his desert boots.

He bends over and his ass crack is exposed. It's something I could have lived a lifetime without seeing.

"Found it," he says, proudly holding up a crinkled imprint of my dick.

"I'll take that," I say, wrenching it from his hand.

Before I can retrieve the paper, Barney sees the image.

"Wow, sir, this time it's life size."

A couple of years ago, Barney saw the pictures Elena took of me when I was her submissive, so he's not seeing anything new.

"It was for my wife," I explain. I reach behind me and push the paper through the shredder.

"Whatever kicks her switch, sir." There's no judgment in Barney's words. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"I'm having a helluva time. Could you please stand outside in case I have more problems?"

"Of course. I'll be in the hall on standby."

I lock the door behind him.

Seeing Barney's butt cleavage, and knowing he's right outside, has put a damper on my excitement.

I close my eyes and clear my head of all things Grey House related. I think of Anastasia's creamy soft skin, the swell of her breasts, the dimples above her ass cheeks.

Ah, yes. Now I'm ready.

I position myself against the copier, cross two fingers, and push copy.

At last I fulfill Anastasia's request.

"Barney, I'm putting this in an envelope. I want you to personally deliver it to my wife. Then you may take an extra long lunch in my private dining room at the Mile High. My treat."

"Thank you, sir."

As soon as Barney departs, I text Anastasia.

 **Mission accomplished. Manila envelope on the way.**

Her response it immediate.

 **Can't wait. ;) Hope it wasn't too much trouble.**

If only she knew.

 **No trouble at all, baby.**

No trouble at all.


	25. Y is for Yours

**Y is for Yours**

 **Friday, April 5, 2013**

 **Anastasia**

"The steaks are marinating and the side dishes are in the fridge, ready to pop into the oven. The table is set," Gail says. "I'll come back in an hour to cook everything. Mr. Grey's parents are arriving at six, correct?"

"Yes, six. Thanks, Gail." I hope Christian is able to come home early today.

"Bye-bye, bye-bye," Teddy pulls himself to a stand, and squeals good-bye to Gail.

I scoop up and give him a noisy kiss on the cheek. He's fourteen months old, and his spoken vocabulary has exploded.

Teddy's first word was "da-da," which pleased Christian to no end. We were on Carrick's yacht with the entire clan, which made the moment even more special. Christian had missed all the earlier milestones, smiling, rolling over, sitting up, crawling. The week prior had been a tough one at work, and Christian needed an emotional boost. Teddy seemed to know exactly what his father needed to hear that day.

I plop down on the sofa with Teddy on my lap. "Brownie Bear," Teddy's lovey, is squeezed between the cushions.

"Oh, no, Brownie's getting squished. Can you pull Brownie out of the sofa?"

Teddy pulls the well-loved bear to his chest.

"Mommy needs a Teddy kiss and a Brownie kiss." I point to my cheek. Teddy presses Brownie to my cheek and then gives me a kiss of his own. "Thank you."

"Bah," Teddy says, climbing down. I know he's asking to play ball.

I find the transparent red plastic ball, and we roll it back and forth between us. Teddy soon becomes bored and pulls himself to stand. His green truck is under the coffee table. I hold it out to him.

"Tuck." He reaches for it and falls, but quickly pulls himself back up. As I'm about to scoot closer and hand the truck to him, he steps forward. One, two, three steps, and he falls into my arms.

Tears spring to my eyes. I can't believe my baby just walked.

"Oh, Teddy, you're so big and strong. I'm so proud of you." I hold Teddy close and kiss his forehead. My first instinct is to text Christian and tell him of his son's latest accomplishment. As I reach for my phone, I decide on a different plan of action.

"Teddy, this is going to be our little secret. Can you please surprise Daddy?" I clap my hands, and Teddy copies me. "Please? Will you walk for Daddy?"

"Da-da?" Teddy looks around for Christian.

"Daddy will be home soon," I say. Teddy seems satisfied, and plays with his truck.

I scoot behind the sofa, out of sight, and make little barking noises.

"Doggie dog," Teddy says. Teddy loves dogs as much as I do. I hear the approaching shuffle of Teddy's crawl, as he investigates.

"A-boo!" I say, jumping out at Teddy. He startles, then falls into a fit of giggles. A copper ringlet flops down between his eyes.

"Oh, little boy, I think you need a trim. Or maybe you need a tiny man bun. Your beautiful hair is getting too long." I run my hands through Teddy's hair, and consider whether my son is ready for his first haircut.

Teddy's eyes grow wide at the sound of the front door opening and closing.

"Hello?" Christian calls to us.

"Da-da." Teddy crawls toward his father's voice.

Christian is Teddy's favorite plaything. That thought makes me giggle. Like mother, like son, I think.

"There you are," Christian toes off his shoes, and joins us on the floor. I get the first kiss. Teddy gets a kiss and an airplane lift.

"I'm so happy you're home. You're all mine now."

"All yours, Mrs. Grey. How was your day?"

"Teddy and I had fun playing and reading. I worked on a travel segment during his nap. Teddy helped me bake brownies."

"You're a good boy to help Mommy," Christian tells Ted.

Teddy crawls over to the sofa and pulls himself up to retrieve Brownie Bear.

For one brief second, Teddy lets go of the sofa and stands unassisted.

"Did you see that?" Christian says, his voice full of wonder.

"He's ready to walk. It won't be long now. Perhaps you can coax him."

Christian finds the green truck, and holds it up.

"Hey, son, let's play truck."

Teddy crawls to Christian, pushes up on his knees, and reaches for the toy.

Christian holds it just beyond Teddy's reach. I pull Teddy to a stand. Christian scoots back a couple of feet, and holds out the truck. I let go of Teddy and he walks into Christian's arms.

"Way to go, buddy. You walked!" Christian hugs and kisses Teddy. There are tears in Christian's eyes, and I have my own waterworks.

Christian takes out his phone, and is ready when our son walks again a few minutes later. He proudly sends off the video to my dad, Grace, Carrick, Mia, Elliot, and all the Kavanaghs.

"Don't forget to write this on Teddy's calendar," Christian reminds me. My husband has no record of his early years, so it's important to him that we preserve every detail of our children's development. "This has turned out to be a fantastic day. I wish we weren't leaving Teddy with my parents for the weekend. You know he'll be up and into everything. We're going to miss out."

"Missing out would be Teddy taking his first steps without us." I push Christian down on the antique Persian carpet and straddle him. I loosen his tie. "Jazzy has been looking forward to a night alone in a hotel room with Clint. It's been months since she's seen him."

Christian's eyes light up at the mention of Jazzy, the hooker with a heart of gold. Jazzy and Clint were characters in our first role play scene. That experience in Montana launched my interest in cosplay and our mutual love for role play.

"If Jazzy and Clint will be making an appearance, I suppose we really must go to Vegas," Christian concedes. "And it would be rude not to support El and Kate."

After dinner tonight, Teddy is going home with Grace and Carrick. Bright and early tomorrow morning we'll board the jet with the other wedding party members, and go to Vegas for Kate and Elliot's bachelor/bachelorette party.

Teddy crawls over and climbs on his father's chest, so there are now two of us straddling Christian. Long curls cover Teddy's nape, and I consider again whether or not to give him a trim.

"What do you think about me giving our little man a trim? I want to keep his lovely curls, just neaten them up a bit."

"His first haircut on the day of his first steps…I like it."

"Let me get my scissors and comb. I'll be right back."

As I walk up the stairs to fetch my things, I hear the laughter of my husband and child. What did I ever do to deserve such riches?

I find my barber shears, the ones I've used on Dad, Kate, Christian, and now Teddy. I've so much love in my life, and more to come, I pray.

I return to my loves, and find Teddy looking in Christian's ears and pulling on his lobes. Is that something toddlers do? It seems as soon as I figure out each stage, Teddy is already on to something new.

"Ready?"

Christian carries Teddy to the kitchen island and straps him into the booster seat. I dip the comb into a glass of water and use it to dampen Teddy's hair. Christian takes pictures and keeps Teddy occupied while I trim. Soon our son begins to look more boy than baby.

"Hello, little boy blue," Gail says as she enters the kitchen. "You look very handsome, Teddy."

"He does, doesn't he?" Christian says, the pride evident in his voice. "And he took his first steps less than an hour ago. We have a toddler now."

"Sounds like time to have another little Grey," Gail says. She quickly covers her mouth in embarrassment. "I apologize for overstepping my bounds."

"It's fine," I tell her.

Christian and I plan to try for another child when we're on vacation in Montana this summer. I hope I don't get pregnant right away. I like the idea of 'trying.'

"I hope you have a wonderful time in Vegas," Gail says. "As best man and matron of honor, what do you have planned for the happy couple?"

"We'll all spend the day together," Christian says. "After an early dinner the girls and guys will split up for a couple of hours. We'll all come back together for Celine Dion."

Christian rolls his eyes.

"Don't judge," I tell him. "Kate wants Celine. She's the bride, and the bride should get what she wants. Elliot's fine with it. He wants to make Kate happy, and I love him for that."

"Celine Dion is a brilliant choice. I'm a huge fan." Gail pulls dishes out of the fridge. "If you'll excuse me, I'll step outside and get the fire started for the steaks."

Teddy sits on Christian's lap and pulls at his newly shorn locks.

"Elliot's pussy-whipped," Christian says, after Gail steps away.

"That's what he always says about you." I can't stifle my giggle.

"You and I are different," Christian says. "I can't quantify it or define it, baby, but it's different with us. I'm yours and you're mine." Christian joggles Teddy on his lap, and leans toward me, silently signaling for a kiss.

"Yours. Always."

I deliver my promise with a kiss, tender and light.

 **XXXXXXX**

 **Thank you for reading and reviewing. There's only one chapter left in this collection.**


	26. Z is for Zippers

**Z is for Zippers**

 **Saturday, April 13, 2013**

 **Anastasia**

"Ana, where's Mama?" Kate is frantic. It's noon, and we've only just arrived at the Arctic Club Hotel. Kate and Elliot's ceremony starts at five.

"We're the only ones here." I told Bug we shouldn't have come so early. She's been so scattered lately. Must be wedding jitters. "The hair and makeup team doesn't arrive until two, so I wouldn't expect anyone until then. Maybe we should have waited, but you were so worried about being late."

"You don't understand. I've had a recurring nightmare for months about being late for my wedding. And after all the problems with venues and having to reschedule twice…well, you can understand my fear that something will go wrong."

Not wanting any hurt feelings, Kate allowed one of her aunts to take on the role of wedding planner. There were so many problems that Papa K finally had to have a sit-down with his sister.

"Everything has been smooth sailing since you hired Billy and Mia. Lesson learned. Never hire a relative who isn't a professional."

"Aunt Millie made such a mess of things. If not for being Dad's favorite sister, I'd disown her."

"Prescott hung your dress in the bedroom. I have your shoes and undergarments in my tote." I look around the place. "This is a lovely suite. The Arctic does have a nice vintage vibe."

"When I was little, I knew early on I'd get married at St. Paul's. We used to come to the Arctic for brunch. I've always loved this old hotel. The Dome Room is perfect for our reception. The only draw back was having to pare down the guest list to three hundred."

Kate grows wistful and walks to the window.

"Can I get something for you? Tea?" Kate stares down into the streets of Seattle, and doesn't respond to my question. "Bug?"

Kate turns to me, and uses her hand to smother a sob.

"Ana…I can't…" My friend throws herself face down on the sofa.

"What's wrong? Talk to me." I kneel next to Kate and rub her shoulders.

"What if I'm a bad wife? I'm not very domestic. And what if I'm not good with kids?"

"Elliot has a housekeeper who comes in twice a week. And you know enough to prepare simple meals. You're great with Teddy, so I don't know what you're worried about. You've never expressed doubts before. You've not been yourself lately."

What the hell is going on? Bug has been out of sorts for weeks now.

"I was on the pill for years and never had any problems. Then I switched to the shot, and became a raving lunatic. I let the shot run out, but the doctor said she wanted to wait until I had a period before putting me back on the pill. I'm still feeling out of whack, like I did on the shot."

"When did you last have a period?"

"Just before I took the shot. Six or seven months ago. I'm not sure."

"I don't know much about contraception, but that doesn't sound normal."

"The doctor said it oftentimes takes a while for menstruation to return after going off the shot. I just thought all the crazy side effects of the shot would be gone by now. Actually they went away and returned a while back."

"As soon as you get back from your honeymoon, I think you should see the doctor again."

"Yes, and maybe I should see someone about food allergies."

"Food allergies? That's new."

"I've had an upset stomach for weeks and I feel bloated. I've been craving milk shades, but I've denied myself, and I've been absolutely faithful to Bridal Boot Camp. No matter what I do, I'm getting bigger instead of smaller. Elliot likes it, says Boot Camp is making my boobs bigger."

Oh, shit.

"Bug, why don't you go lie down in the bedroom. I'm going to send Prescott out for milkshakes. We're both going to have one. At this point, it probably doesn't matter if you indulge a bit."

"Okay. Ana…thank you for putting up with all my crazy."

"What are friends for? Rest. I'll come get you when Prescott delivers the shakes."

As soon as the bedroom closes, I step into the hallway. Prescott and Sawyer are discussing the merits of preparing one's own ammunition, something I've heard Dad discuss on several occasions.

"Prescott, I need you to run an errand. Could you please go to Bartell's and pick up a pregnancy test?"

Prescott and Sawyer's eyes go wide.

"Congratulations, ma'am," Prescott says.

"It's not for me. Get three tests, different brands," I say, remembering all the pregnancy tests Christian ordered with Teddy. "On the way back, please stop at Dick's Drive-In and get two vanilla milk shakes."

XXXXXXX

"Bug," I rub Kate's back. "Milk shake."

Kate groans and rolls over, one eye open.

"I probably shouldn't drink this, but it's been a long time since breakfast," Kate says, sitting up and arranging the pillows behind her.

"I got something else for you."

"Chili-cheese fries?" Kate's hopeful smile is adorable.

"Nope. Pregnancy tests." And now her winsome smile is gone.

"What! No way am I pregnant. Since the shot, Elliot has used a condom every single time."

"I know whereof I speak. Exhibit A. Your nephew, Theodore Steele Grey." I think of my sweet boy who is home with Gail today. We decided he was too young for a wedding.

"Just to humor you, I'll do it." Kate rolls her eyes and retreats to the bathroom with the bag.

I take two sips of my milkshake. It's delicious. I remember craving these when I was pregnant.

Bug is taking her sweet time in the bathroom. The tests take less than five minutes and she's been in there for at least that long.

"C'mon out," I tell her. "You don't want your milkshake to get all warm and gross and melty."

Kate walks out and picks up her shake. She takes long draws on the straw and makes loud slurping noises. I don't need to ask her. I know the tests were positive.

"Should I call Elliot now or tell him in person this afternoon?"

"There's no time like the present," I say. "If you don't tell him now, you'll sit around thinking about telling him."

"Right…I think it would be easier telling him in person, but it's bad luck to see him before the ceremony."

"Do you really believe that? I don't. I think if you need to see him, you should see him. You could tell him through a door, but is that how you tell the man you love that you're pregnant?"

"I guess not."

"Are you okay?" I think of the baby Kate lost when she was a teenager.

"Yes. I'm happy, but I don't want to get excited until Elliot does. I'm gonna text him, ask him to come now."

I watch Bug tap away on her phone, and then hear the ping in response to her text.

"El is with Christian. They're on the way."

"Good. I'm sure Elliot will be thrilled. If the shot is good for three months, and you took it six or seven months ago, you could be four months along."

"I know. I feel foolish. I've been buying larger clothes, thinking I was turning into a lard ass…oh, shit. My last fitting was six weeks ago. What if the dress doesn't fit?"

"Try it on before El gets here." I dig through the tote for Kate's wedding lingerie, and her Spanx. "Can you squeeze into these?"

Kate undresses and I gasp when I see how big her boobs have gotten. The bra is too small, and the Spanx look uncomfortable.

Her dress is a strapless ball gown. I help her step into it.

"Sucking in my gut doesn't help," she says. "See if you can get it zipped."

I work the zipper up and down, wiggling it and gently pulling the fabric together. At last, the dress zips closed.

"Thank goodness," I say. "How does the dress feel? You look like you've put on weight, but you don't really look pregnant. You look fuller, more womanly, but I don't think anyone will think you're pregnant."

"The dress is snug, but I think it looks okay. The bodice actually looks better now that my tits are bigger. Maybe Mama can swing by the shop and get me a larger size bra. This one squishes my tits too much."

Kate reaches down to unzip the dress, and we both hear it. The sound of fabric ripping. The zipper has been stretched beyond capacity and has pulled away from the seam.

We exchange looks of alarm. Poor Kate is stunned. As if just finding out she's pregnant wasn't enough, she now has a ripped wedding gown. It's close to two. Billy, Franco, and the team will soon be here.

Kate begins to cry. The tears start with a whimper and soon become sobs.

"Oh, Bug. It'll be okay." I hold her close as she blubbers into my shoulder. "I'll call Mama K and she'll know what to do."

There's a banging on the door, and I hear Sawyer telling someone to calm down.

"Katie, open the goddamn door!" It's Elliot.

"Bug, are you ready to see him?"

"I think so."

"Go in the bedroom and put on your robe. You don't want him to see you in your gown."

I open the door and Elliot pushes past me. Christian isn't far behind.

"Where the fuck is she?" Elliot's voice booms through the suite.

"Calm down. I won't let you see her, if you're going to stomp around like an ass."

"Nobody's keeping me from her. Where is she?" Elliot pulls at his hair and marches toward the bedroom. "If she's got cold feet and thinks she's gonna bounce, she's got another thing coming."

They may not be related by blood, but Elliot's response is so like Christian. I start giggling and can't stop, tears running down my face.

Christian and Elliot stare at me.

"Baby, what's so funny about this?"

"You," I gasp for breath and move my finger between Christian and Elliot. "Alike…funny."

"Stop laughing, Banana. Where the fuck is she?"

"I'm here," Kate tells him, pulling the bedroom door back. "Come in here so we can talk."

"Christian and I will take a walk," I tell Kate. "Back in a few."

"Dome Room," I say to Sawyer and Taylor, as I take Christian's hand and lead him to the elevator.

"What's going on with Kate? Elliot's out of his mind with worry."

"She's pregnant and in shock," I whisper.

"That's huge…but what's the problem? I thought they wanted kids right away." Christian sees no problem.

"It's not as easy that. Don't you remember all of your own conflicting emotions when I told you I was pregnant?"

"That was different. I didn't think I wanted children, but Elliot has always wanted them."

We get off the elevator and walk to the Dome Room. The leaded glass ceiling was made by Tiffany in 1917. It really is a beautiful space.

"Literally minutes ago, Kate found out she's pregnant. It's her wedding day, and instead of focusing on her guests, she's thinking about the baby she lost years ago. Her hormones are wreaking havoc. She's allowed to be a mess. I just hope Elliot understands."

"Up in the suite, you said Elliot and I are alike, but we're not. Elliot will know exactly what to say and do."

"You underestimate yourself, Mr. Grey. You know how to do and say the most perfect things. If there weren't people in here setting up for the reception, I'd ask you to take me on one of these tables."

"Don't tempt me, Mrs. Grey." Christian kisses me sweetly. "I suppose we should go back upstairs."

XXXXXXX

Just as Christian predicted, Elliot said exactly the right things. El was so happy, he was twirling Kate around when we returned to the suite. Then he picked Christian up and twirled him. It was the most awkward and beautiful sibling moment I've ever seen.

Mama K had her alterations person from the shop come over. Kate has literally been sewn into her dress, and at the end of the evening, Mama K will have to use a seam ripper to help Kate undress.

My dress is a beautiful rose pink silk halter with silk chiffon overlay. The 'beauty' team is still here, but I'm ready to go, having been tended to early on. Becca is also finished and she's relaxing with a book right now. Mia is nearly ready, but Kate's cousins aren't even close. We must leave for the church in a half hour.

Kate is ready to go, sitting with Mama K and Grandma Aggie. She calls to me. "The photographer will be back in a few minutes, Ana. Tell everyone to be ready."

Prescott taps me on the shoulder.

"Mrs. Grey, your husband wants you to come out into the hall."

I follow her, to find Christian pacing back and forth in front of Taylor and Sawyer.

"Thank fuck. I was afraid you'd be under a dryer or have goop on your face."

His assessment of beauty practices makes me giggle.

"Your salon ownership days did nothing to educate you in the ways of female grooming." As soon as I say it, I want to take it back.

"That's certainly loaded with meaning," he says in mild irritation. "Come with me."

"I can't. We're taking pictures and leaving for the church soon. Shouldn't you be doing the same?"

"We already have pictures. Ten minutes," he says.

"Your timing is terrible. You're the best man and I'm the matron of honor. We have responsibilities."

"Ten minutes." Christian pouts. How can I refuse that handsome face?

He takes my hand and pulls me into the darkness of a linen room. Taylor follows us, to stand guard outside the door, I presume.

"Do you remember?" Christian presses me up against the wall.

"Commencement. Dinner. My first utility closet sex."

"Yes, Mrs. Grey. And this is your first married utility closet sex. I wanted to wait for the reception, but I need you now."

"Stand and slam?" I ask.

"Yes," he says, feeling his way under my skirt. "This dress suits you. I like having easy access."

"Please don't rip my panties. I don't want to be in church without underwear."

"God has seen you without panties."

"Yes, but Kate's wedding guests haven't, and I'm sure you'd like to keep it that way."

Christian unties my halter and lavishes my breasts with attention.

"I want you in my mouth," I say, as I unzip his pants. We don't have much time, so I practically assault his penis, taking it straight to the back of my throat.

We know each other's bodies very well. We can each make the other come within a couple of minutes, but we also know how to extend pleasure. Christian is a wonderful teacher, and he's taught me the fine points of edging.

Soon my legs are wrapped around his waist, and the heels of my Louboutins click together as Christian pounds away. I'm reminded of "The Wizard of Oz."

 _There's no place like home._

 _Christian is my home._

We soon find our release, fumble in the dark for towels, and clean ourselves up.

"Thank you, baby. I needed that. And I may need it again later."

"I love you, my darling." I reach down to zip him up, but as I pull up, the zipper gets stuck. "Uh-oh."

Christian steps back to find the light switch, and we both hear it.

The rip of fabric.

Under the harsh florescent light, we see Christian's zipper has caught the chiffon overlay of my dress. The chiffon has a small tear. He and I are now attached to one another.

"Shit, baby. What are we gonna do?"

"Let me try." I try working the zipper, but it won't budge. We're running out of time. "Stick your head out and ask Taylor to call Mama K."

Taylor makes the call, then steps in to see what he can do. Christian refuses his help.

"Baby, I don't know what Dana Kavanagh can do. You're the only one I want coming near my dick."

"I'm trying to avoid further damage to the dress. She may know what to do. We need help."

Mama K arrives on the scene in complete confusion.

"Ana, how did this happen?"

"I don't think that matters much right now," I say. "Please help us fix this."

"I'm not sure what to do," Mama K says.

"There you are." Carrick joins us. "We're waiting for you, son."

"I can't. Anastasia and I are stuck together." Christian points at his crotch.

"Oh, for the love of God," Carrick says in exasperation. "You two are like teenagers."

"Sir," Taylor interrupts. "I looked up stuck zippers and the internet says use Windex."

"On silk chiffon? Never." Mama K tells Taylor.

Suddenly Christian and I find ourselves in the middle of a crowd.

Grace, Papa K, Aggie, and the entire bridal party are in the hall discussing our situation. So much for Kate's dress being a surprise for Elliot. He has his hands all over his bride.

Everyone seems to have an opinion about how to solve our problem.

"How about graphite?"

"Olive oil on a Q-tip."

"Damn, bro, how did you and Banana do that?"

"WD-40 should work."

"Just give the zipper a good yank."

And from one of Kate's cousins, "Let me reach down there. I have small hands. I can fix it." Over my dead body!

Christian and I lean into each other, frustrated and more than a little embarrassed.

"Mia, where's Kate's bridal emergency kit?" I ask.

"I've got it right here in your tote."

"Wonderful. Would all of you please give us five minutes?"

Christian walks us back into the privacy of the linen room.

I find a pair of nail scissors, and carefully trim the chiffon away from Christian's zipper. There will be a hole in the top layer of fabric, but it's close to my waist, and I can hide it with the bouquet. At the reception, maybe people will be too intoxicated to notice.

I play with Christian's zipper but it comes off track and is a loss. I find duct tape in the emergency kit, and use that to close Christian's fly. The zipper placket covers the tape. No one will be the wiser.

"Every time you use the john, you'll need a fresh piece of duct tape. I'll be happy to help you with that, Mr. Grey."

"Thanks, baby. One day we'll laugh about this."

XXXXXXX

"I, Elliot, take you, Katherine, to be my partner for life,

I promise above all else to live in truth with you

And to communicate fully and fearlessly.

I give you my hand and my heart

As a sanctuary of warmth and peace

And pledge my love, devotion, faith and honor

As I join my life to yours."

This is El and Bug's special day, and we are privileged to be part of it.

Christian and I lock eyes. Suddenly a broad smile lights up his face. I return his smile, knowing what it means.

We share a secret, just us two. We are accomplices, confederates, co-conspirators.

 _I love you_ , he mouths silently to me.

 _You too_ , I mouth back.

 **XXXXXXX**

 **9 Feb 2018**

 **Gentle Reader,**

 **Thank you for reading and following as we waited together for the release of "Fifty Shades Freed." Your kind feedback and reviews have been most helpful to me as I attempt to improve my writing. I have the brightest, most generous readers in the fandom. From the bottom of my heart, thank you!**

 **To nikkistew2, thank you for being my rock. You are a blessing to the FSOG fandom, and one of the most intelligent and funny people I have ever had the privilege to know.**

 **To Seosh, who provided the inspiration for "A to Z," thank you.**

 **To ramanreinee, thank you for pre-reading, offering feedback, and most of all, for being a friend.**

 **To Nance, who might read this, and to GDB, who won't, thanks for monitoring my guest reviews. Love you bunches!**

 **To stargazer93, Diamondchild, missmusicteach, QueenBee03, and Carmelroads, thank you for the writer-to-writer support and encouragement. Your kindness will never be forgotten.**

 **All the best,**

 **Paula AKA T Traveller**


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